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BELLE  OF  LYNN 


BY 

CHARLOTTE  M.  BRAEME 

A^uthor  of  "THRowr  ON  the  World,"  "Dora  Thorne,"  "The 
Duke's  SecrK'^/'  "Golden  Dawn,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  AND  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  You  are  the  *  Belle  of  Lynn,'  "  he  said  to  her,  with 
a  smile.  "  I  have  heard  of  nothing  else  since  I  came 
here.  All  the  masters  of  that  dull  old  grammar-school, 
and  half  the  pupils  too  —  " 

"  They  are  very  kind,"  she  replied,  shyly,  "  but  I  do 
not  know  any  of  them,  and  I  did  not  know  that  they  had 
given  me  that  name." 

"  They  speak  of  you  always  as  the  Belle  of  Lynn,"  he 
replied.    '^  Are  you  content  to  be  the  belle  of  a  village  ? " 

"  Lynn  is  Aot  a  village,"  she  answered,  gravely. 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Lynn  is  a  county  town,  quaint  and  old-fashioned — 
full  of  historical  interest.  It  is  of  far  more  importance 
than  any  village  could  be." 

"  Then  you  are  content  to  be  the  Belle  of  Lynn  ?  "  he 
repeated  ;  and  with  a  smile  bright  as  the  snnshme  around 
her  the  young  girl  answered : 

"  Yes,  I  am  quite  content.  I  should  be  content  to  be 
any  one  or  anything  if  only  for  the  happiness  of  living 
in  this  beautiful  world." 

He  looked  around  him — on  the  green  trees,  the  shining 
waters,  and  the  blue  sky,  thinking  to  himself  that  the 
face  before  him  was  the  most  beautiful  of  all  things  upon 
which  he  gazed. 

"  I  never  thought,"  he  said,  "  when  I  took  up  my 
abode  at  the  Clover  Farm  that  I  should  have  the  privir 
lege  of  being  so  near  to  you.  What  a  fortunate  thmg  it 
is.  for  me !  You  will  say  that  I  exaggerate,  but  it  is  true 
that  the  very  sight  of  you  brings  to  my  mind  all  that  i^ 

2134480 


6  THE  BELLE  OP   LYNN. 

most  fair  and  bright  in  creation.  I  think  of  the  Ught  of 
the  sun,  the  shining  of  the  stars,  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
and  the  bloom  of  all  lovely  flowers,  when  1  look  at  your 
face." 

She  smiled,  and  her  eyes  drooped  from  his,  but  she 
answered : 

"  Mine  must  be  an  extraordinary  kind  of  face  to  re- 
mind you  of  all  those  things." 

Though  she  smiled,  he  could  see  that  she  was  pleased, 
and  that  the  eyes  she  hid  from  him  were  shining  with 
delight. 

*'  Why  did  you  come  to  live  at  the  farm  ? "  she  asked, 
and  he  sighed  before  he  answered  her. 

"It  was  so  dark  at  the  grammar-school,"  he  answered  ; 
"  dark  and  gloomy ;  the  building  is  old-fashioned,  and  so 
completely  surrounded  by  tall  trees  that  in  some  of  the 
rooms  it  is  hardly  possible  to  read,  and  I  —  I  love  sun- 
shine, light,  brightness  and  fresh  air  above  all  things.  I 
tried  ray  best,  but  I  could  not  live  there." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  wonder. 

"  You  are  not  English  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  not  English.  I  belong  to 
the  fairest  land  on  which  the  sun  shines,  the  land  of  the 
lily  and  the  violet — beautiful  France." 

"  You  do  not  look  like  a  Frenchman,"  she  said ;  then 
drooped  her  lovely  eyes  again,  lest  he  should  read  in 
them  how  well  she  had  studied  his  face.  "  You  are  fair, 
and  tall,  and  strong,"  she  continued ;  "  you  have  gray 
eyes  that  grow  black  when  you  are  much  in  earnest.  You 
are  more  nke  the  typical  Saxon  than  the  typical  French- 
man." 

"  I  care  little  what  I  look  like,  provided  I  please  you," 
he  said,  quickly. 

He  did  so ;  but  she  would  not  tell  him  how  much. 

"  I  have  heard  your  name,  too,"  she  said,  "  but  it  was 
from  one  of  the  farm-servants,  who  did  not  know  how  to 
pronounce  it." 

"  My  name  is  Leon  de  Soldana,"  he  said,  with  a  low 
bow,  and  a  hot  flush  which  covered  his  face. 

"  And  you  are  —  "  then  she  stopped ;  but  he  took  the 
words  from  her. 


THI  BELLE  OF   LTMf,  1 

"I  am  a  French  refugee.  I  belong  to  one  of  the  oldest 
families  in  France.  Mj  ancestors  were  lords  of  a  large 
and  fair  domain,  while  I  am  friendless,  homeless,  penni- 
less, but  for  the  money  I  earn  by  teaching  my  native 
language.  It  was  musical  enough  once  in  my  ears,  before 
these  lads  of  Lynn  tortured  and  twisted  it  out  of  all 
sound  and  sense.  I  am  that  most  despised  of  all  men —  a 
French  refugee,  a  nobleman  without  a  shilling,  a  man 
with  an  ancient  title  and  no  home !  " 

"  What  is  your  title  ?  "  she  asked,  softly. 

"  I  am,  or  should  be,  if  I  had  my  rights,  the  Cerate  de 
Soldana,"  he  answered. 

"  Is  that  known  at  the  College  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Only  to  the  principal,"  he  answered.  "  I  should 
have  a  fine  life  with  those  boys  if  they  knew  I  was 
Comte  de  Soldana.  It  is  hard  enough  now ;  it  would  be 
worse  then.  No  one  knows  but  the  principal  and  you," 
he  added,  his  voice  softening.  "  I  try  to  forget  all  about 
it,  my  beautiful  France,  and  the  honors  that  should  be 
mine.  I  try  to  remember  that  I  am  Leon  de  Soldana, 
teacher  of  French  at  St.  Edward's  Grammar  School, 
Lynn." 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  could  do  something  for 
you." 

"  You  can !  "  he  cried,  eagerly.  "  You  can  brighten 
my  whole  life,  you  can  give  me  the  great  pleasure  of  see- 
ing you  sometimes,  and  of  speaking  to  you ;  we  shall  be 
near  neighbors.  I  shall  forget  all  trouble  if  I  may  look 
at  and  speak  to  you  —  why,  I  have  been  so  lonely  and  so 
friendless  that  it  is  like  a  vision  of  Paradise  to  me.  Tell 
me  your  name?  You  must  have  another  besides  the 
Belle  of  Lynn." 

"  My  name  is  Lima  Derwent,"  she  answered. 

"  Lima !  "  he  cried.     "  "Why,  that  is  a  Spanish  word." 

"  No.  You  would  never  guess  why  that  name  was 
given  to  me.  Have  you  ever  met  one  of  those  calm, 
gentle  women  who,  without  being  what  the  world  calls 
clever  and  intellectual,  have  ideas  and  thoughts  that  are 
all  poetry  ?  My  mother  is  one  of  them.  She  has  no  idea 
of  it  herself ;  she  has  read  no  poetry  ;  she  has  not  even 
been  educated ;  yet  she  speaks  always  as  though  she 


8  THE  BELLE   OF  LTlWr. 

4new  what  the  birds  sing  to  one  another,  and  what  mefr 
sages  the  wind  brings  from  over  the  sea.  She  knows  the 
secrets  of  all  the  flowers  and  trees  that  grow  around  us ; 
she  knows  what  blossoms  the  bees  love  best ;  she  knows 
where  the  birds  love  to  build  ;  and  what  do  you  think  ray 
mother  loves  best  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  said,  with  an  admiring  glance  at 
the  radiant  face. 

"  The  lime-trees,"  she  cried,  "  those  beautiful,  shim- 
mering, golden,  green  limes  you  see ;  they  grow  all  round 
the  banks  of  the  Allan  Water.  My  mother  loves  tliem. 
My  father  says  she  makes  a  kind  of  religion  out  of  them ; 
she  knows  eveir  branch ;  she  knows  where  every  bird's 
nest  is  built;  she  knows  all  the  secrets  that  the  wind 
whispers  to  them.  When  she  came  here,  a  young  bride, 
fair  and  gentle,  to  Allan  Water,  she  spent  half  her  time 
under  the  boughs  of  the  lime-trees,  and  she  named  me 
after  them.  I  am  really  Lima  of  the  lime-trees.  Do  you 
know  what  else  my  mother  says  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  rephed. 

"  She  says  that  ever  since  I  have  been  born  there  has 
been  a  cadence  of  melancholy  in  the  music  that  the  wind 
makes  through  the  boughs.  She  says  that  it  is  a  sign  of 
some  unhappiness  in  tne  future  for  me,  but  I  do  not 
believe  that  —  do  you  ? "  she  asked,  raising  her  radiant 
face  to  his. 

"I  —  believe  in  unhappiness  for  you !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
should  say  it  was  almost  impossible.  If  your  fortunes  are 
but  fair  as  your  face,  Miss  JDerwent,  they  will  be  bright 
enough." 

"  My  father  always  reproves  her,"  said  the  girl,  grave- 
ly, "  but  for  all  that,  when  we  walk  together  by  the 
limes,  my  mother  and  I,  when  the  leaves  rustle  and  the 
boughs  sway,  her  face  grows  troubled,  and  she  says  :  '  Be 
careful,  Lima ;  ah,  be  very  careful,  Lima ;  the  voice  of 
the  wind  bodes  sorrow  for  you.'  " 

"  Are  you  frightened  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  not  at  all.  In  all  this  bright,  wide  world,  I  see 
no  shadow  of  coming  sorrow  for  me,"  she  answered. 

"  I  hope  your  life  may  be  as  smooth  and  bright  as 
jour  beautiful  Allan  WaterJ'  said  Leo£U 


THE  BELLK  OP  IjTKS,  9 

As  he  spoke  he  Jooked  around  him.  He  was  no  poet, 
nor  had  he  much  of  the  artist's  soul,  but  he  marvelled  at 
flhe  beauty  of  the  scene. 

This  beautiful  Allan  Water  is  known  all  over  England 
as  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  in  it.  Poets  have  sung  of  it, 
and  the  artists  have  sketched  it  in  all  seasons  and  in  all 
lights  —  a  broad,  beautiful  stream,  wide,  deep,  and  long  ; 
on  one  side  of  it  rose  the  old  town  and  green  woods  of 
Lynn,  on  the  other  stood  the  picturesque  old  mill  known 
as  the  Allan  Water  Mill.  The  great  wheel  was  turned 
by  part  of  the  stream  where  the  water  ran  through  a 
deep  valley,  and  then  came  foaming,  rushing  back  into 
the  stream.  When  the  great  wheel  of  the  mill  was  at 
work,  one  could  hear  the  foaming  and  dashing  of  the 
waters  at  a  great  distance. 

All  along  the  banks  of  Allan  Water  grew  magnificent 
lime-trees;  graceful  willows  dipped  their  branches  into 
the  stream;  in  some  distant  part,  where  the  water  was 
shaded  by  trees,  and  the  little  pleasure-boats  did  not 
venture,  the  water-lilies  grew  in  great  white  clusters ; 
graceful  sedges  and  green  reeds,  with  blue  forget-me-nots, 
grew  in  the  low  grass  that  the  water  was  always  kissing 
in  slow,  solemn  fashion. 

People  came  from  far  and  near  to  sketch  the  pictur- 
esque old  mill  and  to  row  their  boats  on  Allan  Water — 
a  broad,  beautiful  stretch  of  water ;  white  swans  sailed  on 
its  breast,  and  wild  fowl  made  it  their  home ;  the  water- 
martins  haunted  it ;  it  was  said  even  that  the  coot  and 
the  heron  had  been  seen  there.  At  one  part,  near  Lynn 
Wood,  it  grew  narrower,  and  the  dwellers  in  Lynn  had 
thrown  a  bridge  across  it  —  by  no  means  the  work  of  an 
architect,  who  would  have  shuddered,  while  an  artist  re- 
ioiced  in  it  —  a  quaint,  irregular  bridge,  which  was  the 
charm  of  the  whole  landscape.  Old-fashioned  stepping- 
stones  led  to  it,  and  the  bridge  itself  seemed  to  have  been 
seized  upon  by  the  very  goddess  of  flowers ;  thick,  green 
ivy  clusterod  over  the  old  wood-work,  and  every  wild 
flower,  every  creeper  that  could  find  a  place  grew  there. 

A  great  artist  painted  the  bridge  of  Allan  Water,  the 
quaint  wooden  pile  with  its  wealth  of  twining  foliage;  the 
l^rand  stretch  of  water  throbbing  under  the  crimson  ra^f 


10  THE  BELLE   OF   LTNlf. 

of  the  settiog  sun ;  the  great  green  limes,  the  darlij  masses 
of  Lynn  Woods ;  the  mill,  with  the  great  wheel ;  and  all 
England  grew  crazj  with  deliglit  over  the  picture. 

It  was  morning  now,  a  morning  in  May,  when  the 
miller's  lovely  daughter,  crossing  the  bridge,  met  the 
young  stranger  whom  she  had  seen  many  times,  but  to 
whom  she  had  not  spoken.  There  was  a  plank  that  had 
become  loosened,  and  a  large  bunch  of  crackling  thorns 
had  been  placed  over  it  in  primitive  style,  and  these  same 
thorns  had  caught  in  Lima  Derwent's  dress;  she  could 
3ot  extricate  herself,  but  the  young  stranger  came  to  her 
rescue  and  released  her.  She  thanked  him,  and  then  the 
littlfe  conversation,  which  wa£  to  have  great  results,  took 
place. 

A  morning  in  May,  with  the  sun  shining,  and  the 
beautiful  wide  water  laughing  in  its  rays.  The  birds  were 
singing,  the  golden  green  leaves  of  the  limes  rippled  in 
the  sweet,  soft  air,  the  blue  forget-me-nots  looked  up  from 
the  green  grass  with  wondering  eyes ;  the  sky  was  blue, 
and  the  waters  had  caught  a  golden  tinge  ;  what  wonder 
if  they  found  the  world  so  fair,  and  Allan  Water  the 
fairest  spot  in  it  ? 


CHAPTER  n. 

A  STEANGELT  assortcd  pair,  the  two  who  stood  on  Allan 
Water  Bridge,  and  after  a  time,  a  lingering  touch  of  the 
hand,  and  hngering  glances  of  the  eye,  showed  that  part- 
ing on  that  May  morning  was  not  pleasant.  A  strangely 
assorted  pair;  for  she,  despite  her  dainty  loveliness,  her 
grace,  the  musical  ring  and  intonation  of  her  voice,  the 
proud  poise  of  her  head,  was  only  a  miller's  daughter; 
and  he,  homeless,  friendless,  almost  penniless,  was  the 
descendant  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  France. 

Strangely  assorted,  yet  they  seemed  to  have  a  lingering 
attraction  for  each  other;  for  while  Leon  de  Soldana 
crossed  the  bridge  and  went  through  the  narrow  lane — 
which  was  a  bower  of  woodbines  and  led  to  Clover  Farm 
— his  heart  was  full  of  her,  and  he  turned  many  times  to 
watch  the  slender  figure  in  the  blue  dress  as  it  disappeared 


THB   BELLB   OF  LXNIT.  11 

between  the  trees.  As  she  walked  home  by  the  tangling 
outstretched  water,  her  whole  thoughts  were  of  him. 

A  miller's  daugliter !  Yet,  any  one  meeting  her  that 
morning  with  the  light  of  the  dawn  of  love  shining  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  fair  face  flushed  with  the  fresh  air,  her 
hands  filled  with  fresh  dewy  sprays  of  lilac  just  gathered, 
might  have  believed  her  to  be  a  young  princess. 

The  miller  at  Allan  Water  Bridge  held  an  exceptional 
position,  and  he  had  given  to  his  daughter  an  education 
quite  unusual  for  one  of  her  class.  The  mill  had  de- 
scended from  father  to  son  for  many  generations.  The 
Derwents  of  the  mill  were  as  proud  in  the  way  of  their 
descent  as  were  the  Howards  or  the  Talbots.  To  the  ndU 
of  Allan  belonged  all  the  fertile  meadow  land,  the  corn 
fields,  the  huge  stacks  of  hay,  the  cattle  feeding  in  the 
meadows,  the  sheep  and  lambs  roaming  amidst  sweet 
grasses  and  heather ;  the  white  swans  that  sailed  so  grace- 
fully over  the  broad  deep  bosom  of  Allan  Water;  the 
flights  of  blue  pigeons  that  hovered  over  the  old  red  roof, 
the  spacious  garden  with  its  treasures  of  old-fashioned 
flowers ;  the  orchards  where  the  apple-blossoms  were  all 
in  bloom ;  for  the  mill  of  Allan  was  a  prosperous  place, 
and  the  millers  of  Allan  were  reputed  rich. 

The  present  owner,  John  Derwent,  had  succeeded  to 
the  mills  and  meadows  and  the  wealth  of  the  Derwents 
when  he  was  quite  young,  and  he  had  married  quite 
young  the  prettiest  and  sweetest  lassie,  he  was  ac- 
customed to  say,  in  the  three  kingdoms.  He  loved  her 
all  the  better,  perhaps,  because  he  did  not  quite  under- 
stand her.  She  was  gentle,  kindly  of  heart,  industrious, 
fair  and  comely  of  face,  but  there  were  depths  in  her 
character  that  the  miller  would  never  fathom  if  he  lived 
with  her  forever. 

An  unconscious  poetical  train  of  thought  and  ideas. 
She  could  hear  voices  and  music  where  others  heard 
none;  things  seemed  plain  to  her  that  others  did  not 
think  of  or  understand.  She  loved  the  beauties  of  nature 
and  listened  to  the  wonders  of  her  voice.  There  were 
times  when  the  miller  looked  in  wonder  at  his  wife; 
there  can  be  no  mistake  about  this  one  fact,  that  whether 
it  be  giyen  in  abundance  or  not,  this  gift  of  poetry  raises 


12  THl!  BELLE  OF  LYHlf. 

its  possessor  above  all  others.  The  miller  did  not  always 
understand  his  wife,  but  he  revered  and  respected  her. 
They  had  been  married  many  years  before  the  little 
daughter  was  born,  who  was  afterward  to  be  the  sun- 
shine of  the  house.  From  the  first  they  marvelled  at 
her,  she  was  so  fair,  so  exquisite,  so  dainty ;  they  wor- 
shipped her  with  passionate  love;  the  whole  world  to 
them  was  centered  in  that  one  fair  little  child.  There 
was  something  almost  fierce  and  vehement  about  the 
miller's  love  for  his  little  daughter.  If  her  finger  ached, 
if  lier  lovely  face  grew  pale,  if  her  blue  eyes  grew  dim, 
he  was  beside  himself  with  fear.  He  had  smiled  at  the 
mother's  fanciful  name  chosen  for  her.  Yet  he  was  not 
ill-pleased,  for  he  loved  the  green  limes  even  as  he  loved 
Allan  Water.  After  the  birth  of  the  little  Lima  he  be- 
came a  changed  man ;  before  that  time  he  had  been 
recklessly  generous,  now  he  had  but  one  idea,  and  that 
was  to  save — save  all  for  her. 

When  she  was  a  tiny  child  of  three,  playing  under 
the  shadow  of  the  green  leaves,  the  sunlight  making  gold 
of  her  hair,  he  would  watch  her  in  solemn  silence,  then 
call  his  wife  to  his  side,  and  say : 

"That  little  lassie  is  a  lady.  She  is  only  a  miller's 
slaughter,  but  nature  has  made  her  a  lady,  and  we  must 
help  nature.  She  shall  be  a  lady.  She  shall  learn  all  that 
ladies  learn ;  she  shall  have  the  gold  that  ladies  like  to 
epend ;  we  must  not  thwart  nature,  for  nature  has  made 
her  a  lady.     Look  at  the  graceful  figure,  light  and  well- 

Eoised  as  a  bird  on  its  wing;  look  at  the  little  white 
ands,  at  the  light-blue  eyes ;  we  must  not  thwart  nature. 
That  lassie  will  never  make  hay  in  the  meadows,  or  climb 
the  apple-trees,  or  milk  the  cows.  She  will  be  dainty, 
delicate,  and  beautiful." 

As  the  child  grew,  the  passionate  love  of  father  and 
mother  grew  with  her ;  for  ner  they  worked,  for  her  they 
toiled  and  saved.  They  deprived  themselves  of  many 
"well-earned  comforts,  of  all  the  luxury  and  indulgence, 
that  the  golden  store  might  be  increased  which  was  to 
make  Lima  a  lady.  Her  father's  love  for  the  golden- 
haired  girl  was  so  great  he  would  have  given  his  ufe  for 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN.  13 

ter;   he  ^are  everything  else  —  his  time,  his  labor,  hia 

thoughts,  his  cares,  nis  heart,  and  his  love. 

She  must  be  a  lady  —  nothing  mean  or  sordid  must 
come  near  her,  nothing  rough  or  rude  must  come  in 
contact  with  her.  No  hot-house  flower  was  ever  more 
tenderly  cherished,  more  daintily  reared  than  the  miller's 
daughter. 

She  must  be  a  lady,  and  there  was  no  one  to  teach  her 
at  Allan  Mill,  so  it  was  decided  that  she  should  go  to 
school.  The  best  and  most  fashionable  school  in  that 
part  of  the  county  was  kept  by  Mrs.  Sutherland  at  Craig 
House,  Lynn.  "  A  school  " — to  quote  from  the  circular 
— "  for  the  education  of  the  daughters  of  the  nobility 
and  gentry."  Nothing  to  do  with  trade.  When  the 
miller  first  applied  to  Mrs.  Sutherland  she  said  most 
decidedly  that  she  could  not  take  his  daughter.  "  It 
would  not  do.  It  would  lower  the  standard  of  the 
school." 

He  did  the  wisest  thing  possible ;  he  brought  Lima 
into  the  presence  of  the  school-mistress,  and  she,  looking 
at  her  with  wondering  eyes,  said,  "  She  is  a  little  lady." 
The  result  was  that  lima  Derwent  was  admitted  into 
that  most  select  assembly,  and  there  she  remained  until 
she  was  sixteen. 

She  came  home  to  the  mill  of  Allan,  beautiful,  accom- 
plished, and  "  a  lady."  She  was  not  in  the  least  degree 
spoiled  by  this  education  so  far  above  her  class.  She  did 
not  look  down  with  contempt  on  the  miller  and  his  home- 
ly ways,  or  on  her  mother,  whose  English  was  not  always 
perfect,  although  her  ideas  were  full  of  poetry.  She  did 
not  look  down  on  her  old  home  or  her  surroundings :  she 
loved  them  all  as  though  she  had  never  left  them.  Her 
character  was  beautiful  in  its  simplicity  and  tenderness. 
Although  she  had  received  the  education  of  a  lady,  she 
knew  that  she  was  nothing  more  than  a  miller's  daughter. 
She  brought  back  to  her  beautiful  old  home  accomplish- 
ments, education,  graceful  manners,  but  not  one  particle 
of  affectation  or  vanity.  The  miller  was  delighted.  Some 
little  improvements  were  made  in  honor  of  her  return. 
The  miller  built  a  now  room — large  and  lofty — overlook- 
ing the  broad,  beautiful  sheet  of  Allan  Water;  he  fur- 


14  THE  BELLB   OF   LYNN. 

nished  it  with  nnusual  luxury ;  there  was  a  piano,  a  few 
fine  engravings  and  water-colors,  an  easel,  a  book-case, 
and  pretty,  fanciful  chairs.  This  was  Lima's  room,  and 
to  the  miller,  when  she  was  in  it,  it  seemed  like  an 
earthly  Paradise. 

So  for  a  year  she  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  sunshine- 
the  flowers  and  trees,  the  great,  shining  waters,  her  books 
and  her  music.  She  was  perhaps  lonely,  although  she 
never  complained. 

Her  education  had  entirely  unfitted  her  for  any  inti- 
macy or  companionship  with  those  of  her  own  class : 
there  was  nothing  in  common  between  this  girl — refined, 
sensitive,  delicate,  with  her  spiritual,  poetical  mind,  and 
highly  organized  nature — and  the  Misses  Johnson,  daugh- 
ters of  a  neighboring  farmer,  hearty,  healthy,  buxom  girls, 
who  quarrelled  about  sweethearts  and  bonnets,  or  between 
the  Misses  Rudcorn,  who  were  never  so  happy  as  when 
they  were  riding  across  the  country,  at  imminent  danger 
to  their  necks.  And  the  class  in  which  she  had  been 
educated  did  not  recognize  her;  she  was  never  invited  to 
visit  Lynn  Rectory,  or  the  Hall,  or  Allan  House,  so  that 
she  was  very  lonely,  and  there  were  times  when  she 
longed  for  young  people,  longed  to  talk  and  to  laugh  in 
her  own  fashion  :  but  she  never  expressed  the  wish,  and 
never  complained.  She  was  the  sunshine  of  the  house ; 
her  beautiiul  face,  the  sheen  of  her  golden  hair,  her 
bright  smile,  the  music  of  her  voice,  seemed  to  fill  the  old 
walls  with  warmth  and  sunshine.  The  miller  had  wor^ 
ahipped  her  as  a  child,  he  loved  her  now  with  even  a 
greater  and  more  passionate  affection ;  she  was  the  very 
light  of  his  eye,  the  joy  of  his  heart  and  the  pride  of  liie 
life.  He  would  look  at  her  and  watch  her  until  the  tear£ 
dimmed  his  eyes. 

Then  came  the  second  part  of  the  drama  ;  the  first  had 
been  that  nature  must  not  be  thwarted  —  she  must  be  a 
lady;  the  second  was  that,  being  a  lady,  she  must  oi 
necessity  marry  a  gentleman.      There  was  no  help  for  it. 

The  florid,  good-natured  farmers  of  the  neighborhood 
would  not  do  for  this  dainty,  beautiful  girl,  and  the 
miller  was  often  perplexed  as  to  how  he  should  find  a 
husband  for  her.    His  wife  laughed  at  the  notion. 


THE   BELT.E   OF    LYNK.  15 

"There  is  plenty  of  time  yet,"  she  would  answer; 
"  Lima  is  not  quite  seventeen  ;  you  need  not  think  of  a 
husband  for  her  for  some  years  yet." 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  but  my  lady  lass  must  marry  a 
gentleman  when  the  time  to  marry  comes,"  said  the 
miller. 

"  John,"  said  his  wife,  "  Yon  seem  to  forget  one  thing 
— marriages  are  made  in  heaven.  It  is  not  for  us  to  find 
a  husband  for  Lima.  She  will  do  that,  guided  by  her 
own  love  and  instinct." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  whether  love  and  instinct  are  safe 
guides,"  said  the  miller ;  and  in  the  after-time  he  often 
thought  of  his  own  words,  and  said  to  himself  that  pru- 
dence should  lead  love  and  instinct.  But,  alas!  it  never 
did  yet,  and  it  never  will! 

Calm,  bright,  and  clear  as  the  shining  water  around 
her,  was  the  life  of  Lima  Derwent,  until  she  reached  her 
seventeenth  year,  then  the  calm  was  broken  —  never  to 
return. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

The  famous  grammar-school  of  St.  Edward's  made  the 
town  of  Lynn  famous.  It  had  been  founded  many  hun- 
dred years  ago  by  one  of  the  kings  of  that  name,  who 
endowed  it  with  immense  wealth.  Through  all  the 
storms  and  tempests  that  troubled  the  state  this  school 
steered  safely ;  years  added  but  to  its  wealth  and  reputa- 
tion. 

It  was  thought  something  of  an  innovation  at  first 
>vhen  foreign  masters  were  asked  to  reside  there.  The 
"  French  of  Stratford -le-Bow  "  had  been  sufficient,  but 
tlie  managers  were  growing  more  particular  as  the  school 
grew  in  repute.  They  had  a  French  master  to  teach 
French  and  a  German  master  for  German.  It  was  to 
take  the  situation  of  French  teacher  in  St.  Edward's 
Grammar-school  that  Leon  de  Soldana  came  to  Lynn. 

The  old  master,  who  had  been  taken  ill  suddenly,  died 
in  the  midst  of  a  busy  term,  and  there  was  no  resource 
but  for  the  managers  to  advertise.     They  did  so,  and  the 


16  THE   BELLE   OF   LTNK. 

young  Comte  de  Soldana,  who  was  passing  through  Lon- 
don, happened  quite  by  accident  to  see  that  advertise- 
ment. He  did  not  wait,  but  went  at  once  to  the  college. 
He  laid  his  whole  story  before  the  principal ;  lie  had 
none  or  few  friends  in  England  ;  he  was  homeless,  almost 
penniless,  and  he  was  the  last  of  the  once  grand  and  pros- 
perous race  of  the  Soldanas.  The  principal  listened,  and 
was  touched. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  handsome,  eager  face 
of  the  young  man,  "  it  is  not  a  question  of  family,  or 
even  of  ancient  descent,  but  whether  you  can  teach 
French  well." 

"  Try  me,"  cried  the  young  man,  eagerly,  and  the 
principal  agreed  to  do  so. 

"  We  had  better  not  say  anything  about  race  or  title," 
he  said  to  the  young  comte.  "  My  boys  are  sturdy 
Britons ;  they  look  upon  all  Frenchmen  as  their  natural 
enemies.  What  they  would  say  to  a  French  nobleman, 
without  one  shilling  to  keep  up  his  title,  I  cannot  say. 
I  strongly  advise  you  not  to  try." 

So  never  a  word  was  said,  and  the  Comte  de  Soldana 
was  only  known  as  a  very  young  teacher,  but  of  brilliant 
and  varied  attainments.  That  his  physique  resembled 
that  of  a  sturdy  Saxon  rather  than  the  Norman  was 
greatly  in  his  favor.  His  strong,  well-built  figure,  liia 
broad  shoulders  and  magnificent  chest,  his  handsome  face 
and  fair  hair  were  all  unlike  their  notions  of  a  French- 
man— they  did  not  even  caricature  him. 

Still,  take  the  life  at  its  best,  despite  the  hearty  liking 
of  the  boys  and  of  the  masters,  it  was  but  a  dull  existence 
for  one  who  had  the  blood  of  a  grand  old  race  flushing 
and  thrilling  through  his  veins  —  for  one  who  had  every 
aristocratic  instinct.  The  dark,  gloomy  rooms  were  hate- 
ful to  him  ;  if  he  could  but  see  the  sunshine !  But  the 
tall  trees  that  seemed  to  shut  the  college  in  kept  out  the 
bright  sunlight. 

He  asked  if  he  could  take  lodgings  near,  and  attend 
the  college  during  lesson-hours,  and,  as  a  great  privilege, 
permission  was  granted  him. 

Was  it  fate,  fortune,  or  Providence  that  led  him  to 
•eek  a  home  in  the  beautiful  place  called  Clover  Farm, 


THE  BELLB   OF  LYNN.  17 

standing  at  very  little  distance  from  the  Mill  of  Allan  ? 
He  had  heard,  as  every  one  did,  of  the  Belle  of  Lynn, 
the  miller's  lovely  daughter,  who  was  so  fair  to  see,  and 
as  modest  as  she  was  fair.  Every  one  spoke  of  her  beau- 
tiful face,  but  it  was  with  respect  and  reverence ;  all  the 
young  men  sighed  for  her,  but  no  one  could  boast  of  a 
word  or  smile,  and  they  admired  her  all  the  more  for  it 
— all  the  more  because  she  was  just  a  little  proud,  this 
Belle  of  Lynn.  She  sought  no  admiration,  she  never  laid 
herself  out  to  draw  attention.  Leon  de  Soldana  heard  her 
name  very  often,  but  he  had  not  thought  much  of  her — 
every  town  had  its  reigning  belle ;  besides,  what  was  the 
beauty  or  love  of  women  to  do  with  him,  the  last  of  a 
ruined  race  ? 

But  leaving  Clover  Farm  one  day,  he  saw  her,  and 
after  that  he  was  indifferent  to  her — never  more. 

He  stood  watching  her  as  she  walked  along  the  path 
that  led  to  the  mill-stream,  drinking  in  deep  draughts  of 
delight ;  never  in  his  life  had  he  seen  anything  like  her 
face  and  figure.  She  was  unconscious  of  his  watching, 
and  passed  out  of  sight,  but  his  heart  was  on  fire.  The 
old  race  of  Soldanas  had  been  remarkable  for  their  great 
personal  beauty  and  for  their  ardent  love.  It  was  in  him, 
this  penniless  French  teacher,  to  love  as  the  other  nobles 
of  his  race  had  done,  with  fervor,  eloquence  and  passion. 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  would  wait  his  time ;  he 
would  not  startle  her  by  speaking  suddenly  to  her.  This 
beautiful  Belle  of  Lynn  was  a  lady,  they  all  agreed,  but 
he  would  wait  his  opportunity,  and  he  found  it  that 
morning  when  he  met  her  on  the  bridge  that  spanned  the 
narrowest  part  of  Allan  "Water. 

He  went  home  with  a  glow  in  his  heart  such  as  had 
never  warmed  it  before.  His  life  had  been  lonely  enoHgh, 
land  without  comfort.  For  what  political  wrong-doing  his 
grandfather  had  been  banished  from  France  matters  little 
to  this  story.  He  was  deprived  of  all  his  possessions — 
the  grand  old  chateau  of  Soldana  witli  its  large  domain, 
his  property  in  Normandy  called  Belle  d'Or,  and  his 
magnificent  home  in  Paris,  L'Hotel  d'Or;  he  was  de- 
prived of  his  revenue  ;  everything  belonging  to  him  was 
confiscated,  and  he  was  sent  out  to  exile.    He  was  bat  a 


18  THE  BELLE   OF   LTUHf. 

frouDg  man  then.  He  brought  his  wife  and  son  to  Eng* 
and.  How  he  lived  was  onlj  known  to  Heaven  and  him- 
self. At  times  he  received  help  from  old  friends,  but 
many  of  his  friends  were  in  exile  like  himself.  He  spent 
his  whole  time  petitioning  for  his  restoration ;  the  peti- 
tions were  never  even  read ;  therefore,  he  spent  his  life 
in  vain. 

He  died,  and  his  son  succeeded  to  the  same  poverty, 
the  same  round  of  petitions,  then  married  a  girl  as  nobly 
born  and  poor  as  himself,  the  daughter  of  an  illustrious 
exile,  who,  in  his  turn,  had  no  hope  of  ever  seeing  "  Fair 
France  "  again.  He  lived  but  five  years  —  poverty  and 
exile  killed  him  who  should  have  been  Comte  de  Soldana, 
and  lord  of  the  great  domain  in  Normandy  —  he  died, 
leaving  his  wife  and  one  child,  Leon. 

For  some  years  after  his  death  Mme.  de  Soldana  had 
struggled  on  ;  she  taught  French  and  music,  and  so  earned 
enough  to  keep  her  little  son  and  herself,  but  after  a  time 
her  health  and  courage  failed.  Then  an  old  friend,  also 
an  exile,  came  to  the  rescue ;  he  offered  to  educate  Leon, 
and  he  offered  to  help  Mme.  de  Soldana  to  return  in  dis- 
guise to  France,  where  she  lived  on  a  miserable  pittance 
for  some  years.  During  that  time  mother  and  son  never 
met,  although  they  corresponded  continually,  and  the 
greatest  affection  existed  between  them.  Mme.  de  Sol- 
dana, even  in  her  poverty,  was  as  proud  as  an  empress ; 
she  never  abandoned  her  dignity  even  when,  as  it  hap- 
pened at  times,  she  had  not  bread  to  eat. 

She  had  good  reason  to  love  her  son  :  small  as  was  tlie 
sum  he  received  for  his  teaching,  he  sent  the  greater  { >;•  i-t 
of  it  to  hifl  mother.  He  was  lonely  and  desolate  emnrl' 
this  handsome  young  prince  of  a  banished  race,  and  tl  ( 
first  light  that  brightened  his  life  was  the  kindly  erniks 
of  the^elle  of  Lynn.  He  thought  more  as  he  walked 
home  than  he  had  ever  done  before ;  young  as  he  was, 
his  life  had  been  such  a  struggle  with  poverty,  he  had 
not  felt  the  bitterness  of  exile  so  keenly  until  now.  He 
stopped  at  the  little  white  gate  which  led  into  the  rich 
clover  meadows.  If  he  were  but  lord  of  Soldana,  with  the 
magnificent  ancestral  home  of  his  of  which  he  had  heard 
so  mnch,  but  which  he  could  not  hope  to  see,  he  might 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  19 

perhaps  win  the  love  of  some  girl  as  fair  as  this.  Lord 
of  Soldana !  His  soul  seemed  to  wake  up  within  him 
when  he  uttered  the  words  aloud,  just  as  his  ancestors 
had  answered  to  the  battle  call.  Lord  of  Soldana,  with 
men  to  command  and  money  to  spend,  a  large  domain  to 
rule  over  ;  and  then  he  burst  into  cruel,  pitiful  laughter. 
Lord  of  Soldana !  when  only  a  few  shillings  stood  be 
kween  him  and  absolute  poverty. 

"  Long  live  the  white  lilies  of  France ! "  he  said  to  him- 
self. "My  grandfather  must  have  done  some  good  to  liia 
country  or  he  would  never  have  been  banished  from  it " 
— as  a  rule  the  man  who  is  an  enemy  to  his  own  nation 
is  feted  and  made  much  of  —  "  Long  live  the  white  lilies 
of  France." 

Then,  from  the  far  distance,  came  the  sound  of  the 
bells  of  Lynn,  and  he  knew  that  he  must  go  to  work 
again.  The  lordship  of  Soldana,  the  white  lilies  of 
France,  the  beautiful  face  of  the  girl  he  had  just  left, 
must  all  pass  away  now  like  a  dream :  he  must  face  row 
after  bow  of  sturdy  British  boys,  each  one  of  whom  seem- 
ed to  have  a  more  hoiTible  pronunciation  than  the  others. 
Sturdy  British  boys  who  looked  down  with  infinite 
contempt  on  all  attempts  to  teach  them  French,  asking 
each  other,  with  true  British  indignation,  of  what  use  it 
was ;  while  the  Comte  de  Soldana  forgot  his  dreams  in 
the  very  practical  work  before  him. 

Allan  Water  shone  bright  and  clear  in  the  morning 
sunlight,  and  Lima  Derwent  stood  at  the  window  watch- 
ing the  sunlight  that  lay  upon  it. 

It  had  been  the  miller's  fancy  that  this  window  of  the 
new  room  which  he  had  built  exclusively  for  his  dangh 
ter's  use  should  look  right  over  the  broad,  shinii)g  wat<n 
and  the  stream  itself  washed  up  against  the  newly  built 
wall.  Any  one  rowing  in  a  boat  past  that  window  could 
almost  have  touched  it,  and  could  easily  converse  with 
any  one  standing  there,  as  Lima  was  doing  now. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  first  time  she  had  heard  the 
young  French  refugee  spoken  about,  an  evening  some 
five  weeks  ago,  when  one  of  her  father's  friends  had 
called  at  the  Mill  of  Allan,  and,  speaking  of  the  grammar" 


20  THE   BELLE  OP  LTSIC. 

school,  said  they  had  a  new  French  master  there,  and 
what  a  fine  handsome  youn^  man  he  was. 

The  miller  growled  out  tnat  he  hated  Frenchmen,  and 
that  if  they  were  as  handsome  as  Cupid  it  would  make 
no  difference  to  him. 

The  second  time  was  when  Mrs.  Grey,  of  the  Clover 
Farm,  came  over  to  consult  her  mother  as  to  the  prudence 
of  taking  him  in  as  a  lodger. 

"  I  tell  you  quite  frankly,  Mrs.  Derwent,"  said  the 
mistress  of  Clover  Farm,  "  that  if  I  had  young  daughters 
about  the  house  I  would  not  do  it,  for  a  handsomer,  more 
kindly  young  gentleman  never  lived.    He  is  like  a  young 

Erince  in  his  manner — not  that  I  have  seen  a  prince,  but 
e  is  what  I  should  think  they  are." 
And  Lima  had  pondered  deeply  over  her  words ;  she 
was  thinking  of  them  now  as  she  watched  the  sunlight 
deepening  on  the  calm  breast  of  Allan  Water. 


CHAPTER  ly. 

Thebe  came  a  moonlight  night  in  May,  when  the  lilacs 
were  so  fully  in  bloom  that  their  pale,  soft  petals  fell  on 
the  grass,  and  the  white  syringa  flowers  drooped  with  the 
weight  of  their  own  perfume  —  a  night  so  still,  so  sweet, 
that  it  might  have  been  borrowed  from  Heaven. 

Allan  Water  had  not  a  ripple  on  its  deep  bosom  —  the 
white  lily  buds  were  sleeping,  the  swans  had  gone  to  rest, 
the  forget-me-nots  had  shut  their  bine  eyes,  the  wind 
stirred  the  green  leaves  so  faintly  it  seemed  to  sigh  over 
them,  and  Leon  de  Soldana  stood  on  the  rustic  bridge 
watching  the  lights  that  shone  from  the  Mill  of  Allan. 
It  was  more  than  ten  days  since  he  had  met  Lima,  and 
he  had  seen  her  every  day  since.  Once  he  had  over- 
taken her  in  the  green,  shady  lane  that  led  to  the  farm, 
and  two  whole  hours  had  passed  before  they  even  realized 
that  they  had  met  and  it  was  time  to  part.  There  came 
a  morning  when  he  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  ol  her; 
her  eyes,  her  face,  her  voice  haunted  him,  and  he  rose 
^uite  early  while  the  dew  lay  on  the  ground,  and  weot 


THE  BELLE    OF   LYNN.  St 

out  into  the  clover  meadows.  The  loveliness  of  the 
bright,  fair  morning  led  him  on  until  he  came  to  the 
fields  near  the  Allan  Water ;  and  there,  shining  between 
the  great  lime-trees,  he  saw  the  folds  of  a  blue  dress;  he 
saw  Lima  standing  gathering  the  thick  dew-drops  from 
the  blades  of  grass.  Will  he  ever  forget  the  beauty  of 
that  blushing  face,  as  she  told  him  with  smiles  and  utter 
confusion  why  she  was  in  the  fields  so  early  ? 

She  had  read  in  some  old-fashioned  book  that  if  any 
maiden  washed  her  face  for  nine  mornings  together  in 
May-dew  it  was  a  charm  that  would  give  her  a  com- 
plexion like  lilies  and  roses  forevermore.  He  laughed, 
too,  as  he  heard  it,  thinking  to  himself  surely  never  was  a 
picture  so  fair  as  that  of  this  tall,  slender  English  girl, 
whose  feet  scarce  brushed  the  daisies  as  she  stepped 
lightly  over  the  grass,  her  beautiful  face  blooming  with 
health  and  radiant  with  happiness.  How  lovely  she 
looked  with  the  dew  on  her  face,  hanging  on  the  long 
dark  lashes,  fringing  the  golden  hair. 

"  I  wish  every  lady  in  the  land  used  your  cosmetique^'' 
he  said ;  and  she  answered  carelessly  that  it  was  in  the 
power  of  all.  Even  afterward  that  picture  returned  to 
him  —  a  girl  standing  in  the  long  green  grass,  her  hands 
filled  with  morning  dew,  and  her  face  blooming  with  the 
richest  hues  of  health. 

They  had  lingered  until  the  sun  rose  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  then  the  sole  remaining  descendant  of  the 
Soldanas  suddenly  remembered  that  the  sturdy  British 
boys  would  be  waiting  for  him. 

They  met  again  when  Leon  was  crossing  the  Lynn 
Woods,  and  Lima  sat  sketching  a  giant  oak.  That  day 
the  girl  went  home  with  such  a  heaven  of  delight  in  her 
face,  such  a  light  in  her  eyes,  that  her  mother  looked  at 
her  in  wonder.  What  was  coming  over  the  child  that 
her  face  should  be  so  dazzling  and  bright  ?  Then  came 
the  moonlight  when  Leon,  haunted  still  by  dreams  and 
memories  of  her,  unable  to  sleep  or  to  rest,  came  out  to 
look  at  the  house  where  she  lived — the  casket  which  held 
his  jewel.  He  could  see  so  plainly  the  lights  in  her 
window,  which  reflected  straight  and  clear  in  the  deep 
waters.    Then  an  unutterable  longing  seized  him  to  be 


22  THE  BELLE   OF   LTlflf. 

nearer  her.  A  boat  was  lightly  fastened  to  the  branches 
of  an  alder-tree.  He  unknotted  the  cords,  and  the  next 
minute  was  rowing  quickly  toward  her  window.  He 
knew  liow  to  use  the  oars,  this  man,  whose  ancestors  had 
foujyht  in  the  Crusades. 

He  was  soon  underneath  her  window.  It  was  a  picture 
in  itself  to  see  the  boat  in  the  moonlight  skimming  the 
deep,  bright  waters,  just  as  it  was  a  poem  in  itself  listen- 
in^to  the  sweeping  strokes  of  the  oars. 

There,  under  her  window,  he  rests  at  last,  and  listens, 
for  she  is  singing,  and  he  thinks  to  himself  never  was 
music  so  sweet.  The  window  is  closed  and  the  lace  blinds 
drawn ;  the  boat  rests  motionless  just  where  the  shadow 
of  the  great  trees  fall ;  but  he  can  hear  plainly  —  the 
sound  floats  down  to  him  through  the  clear  air  and  the 
white  moonlight.  He  can  even  near  the  words,  each  one 
clear  and  distinct.  It  is  the  old-fashioned  ballad  that 
will  be  sweet  until  the  world  ends — 

"  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 

Where  the  sweet  spring  tide  did  faDt 
Was  the  miller's  lovely  daughter, 
Fairest  of  them  all. 

•*  For  a  bride  a  soldier  sought  her. 
And  a  winning  tongue  had  he; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
None  so  gay  as  she. 

**  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 

When  brown  autumn  spreads  its  store, 
There  I  saw  the  miller's  daughter, 
But — she  smiled  no  more. 

•*  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  be ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
None  was  sad  as  she. 

"  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
When  the  winter  snow  fell  fast, 
Still  was  seen  the  miller's  daughter; 
Chilling  blew  the  blast. 

**  But  the  miller's  lovely  daughter, 
Both  from  cold  and  care  was  free; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
There  a  corpse  lay  she." 

The  soft,  sad  refrain  floated  down  to  him,  and  seemed 
to  mingle  with  the  sigh  of  the  wind  and  the  wash  of  tho 


THE   BELLK   OF   LTNN.  93 

waters,  until  it  formed  a  dirge  —  a  sweet,  sad  dirge;  he 
wondered  just  a  little  who  this  miller's  lovely  daughter 
was ;  he  resolved  that  when  he  saw  her  next  lie  would 
ask  her  all  about  the  ballad.  Then,  again,  falling  as  it 
were  from  the  window,  in  a  soft,  sweet  shower  of  notes 
came  the  words : 

"  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
There  a  corpse  lay  she." 

He  wished  that  the  wind  did  not  sigh  through  the 
trees,  and  the  water  would  not  seem  to  sob  as  it  washed 
round  the  little  boat.  He  wished  she  had  not  sung  so 
sad  a  song,  but  had  sung  of  love,  of  hope,  of  happiness. 

He  must  tell  her  when  he  saw  her  next ;  those  beauti- 
ful young  lips  of  hers  must  not  sing  of  sorrow  or  of  death. 
Surely  the  sweet-scented  wind  must  blow  chill  from  the 

treat  mere ;  he  found  himself  trembling  without  at  all 
nowing  why. 

Then  the  song  changed,  the  sigh  of  the  wind  and  the 
sobbing  of  the  water  grew  fainter,  the  moonlight  grew 
brighter,  all  the  heart  and  soul  there  was  in  him  awoke 
to  its  full  extent  as  he  listened.  He  forgot  his  poverty 
and  his  exile,  he  forgot  the  bright  beauty  of  his  native 
land,  he  forgot  the  grand  old  castle  and  the  waving 
woods,  the  banners  of  his  ancestors,  and  the  white  lilies 
of  fair  France ;  even  the  present  sordid  miseries  of  his 
life — the  rows  of  sturdy  British  boys — were  all  forgotten 
as  he  listened  to  the  bright  song  which  told  of  hope  and 
love  that  should  never,  never  die. 

The  words  floated  away  over  Allan  Water,  and  there 
was  silence ;  the  light  died  from  that  window,  and  came 
from  au  upper  casement ;  he  heard  her  open  it  and  knew 
that  she  was  looking  at  the  moonlight  beauty  of  Allan 
Water.  He  remained  quite  silent ;  no  stir  of  the  water, 
of  the  oars,  or  of  the  boat  told  of  his  presence ;  he  would 
not  have  her  know  that  he  was  watching  and  waiting 
under  her  window;  she  might  not  be  pleased,  and  a 
frown  on  her  fair  face  would  darken  even  the  sunshine 
for  him. 

When  the  window  was  fastened  and  the  light  gone,  he 


24  THE  BELLE  OF  LTITH. 

rowed  back  again  over  Allan  "Water,  and  went  home  to 
dream  of  her. 

It  was  evening  when  he  saw  her  next ;  he  had  been 
waiting  some  hours  then  to  see  her,  and  just  at  sunset  he 
caught  sight  of  the  blue  gown  down  by  the  banks  of  the 
great  wide  mere. 

"  I  heard  you  singing  last  night,"  he  said.  "  1  listened 
to  you,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  is  it  of  this  Allan 
Water  that  you  sung  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  The  ballad  called  '  On  the 
Banks  of  Allan  Water'  is  one  of  the  oldest  we  have. 
This  beautiful  stream  here  is  named  after  the  Allans  of 
Allan,  who  lived  here  many  hundred  years  ago.  I  have 
always  loved  it,  because,  you  see,"  she  added,  with  a  deep 
blush,  "  it  is  all  about  a  miller's  lovely  daughter." 

"  But  it  is  such  a  mournful  song,"  he  cried.  "  I  can- 
not bear  to  hear  you  sing  it." 

She  looked  at  him  wim  wistful  eyes. 

"  It  is  like  life,"  she  answered  ;  "  first  she  was  gay  and 
fair,  then  she  loved,  then  she  died." 

"  Surely  you  do  not  think  that  love  ends  in  death  ? " 
he  cried. 

"  Death  is  the  end  of  all  things,"  she  said.  "  '  From 
cold  and  care  was  free.'  Is  not  that  the  end  of  all  lives  ? " 

He  spoke  so  vehemently  that  she  could  hardly  under- 
stand him  : 

"  No  —  a  thousand  times  no !  Who  could  have  be- 
lieved  that  you,  so  young,  so  bright,  so  fair,  could  have 
such  gloomy  thoughts  ?  It  is  wonderful  to  me  how  sad- 
ness  lies  underneath  the  character  of  all  English  people." 

"  I  am  not  sad  "  she  answered,  raising  her  beautiful 
eyes  to  his,  "  but  1  cannot  help  seeing,  truths.  I  am  not 
given  to  sadness.     I  may  say  of  myself — 

*'  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  gay  as  she." 

"  I  shall  love  that  ballad,  and  yet  I  shall  hate  It,"  cried 
Leon.     "  Sing  it  to  me  again." 

Once  more  she  sung  it,  and  the  clear,  sad  notes  floated 
over  the  water. 


THE   BELLS   OF  LTNK.  SS 

"It  gives  me  a  strange,  uncanny  feeling,"  he  said; 
**  but  Lima  —  let  me  call  you  Lima  —  you  need  not  sing 
sad  ballads;  you  will  have  a  bright  fate,  bright  love, 
bright  fortune,  bright  life  awaits  you ;  sing  no  more  of 
sorrow  or  death  ;  no  false  lover  will  win  your  heart  only 
to  throw  it  away." 

He  had  grown  to  love  her  so  deeply,  so  dearly,  so  well, 
that  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  a  shadow  falling  over 
her  life. 

Love  of  her  had  taken  possession  of  him ;  love  ol  her 
brightened  the  whole  world  for  him;  love  of  her  had 
changed  the  land  of  exile  into  earthly  paradise ;  love  of 
her  made  him  believe  that  it  was  oetter  to  have  poverty, 
hard  work,  exile  and  obscurity  with  her  than  honor, 
glory,  title  and  fortune  without  her. 

He  said  to  himself  that  if  the  grand  old  castle  and  the 
ancient  domain,  the  large  revenue  and  the  family  honors 
were  his,  he  would  lay  them  all  at  her  feet  —  he  would 
crown  her  with  the  white  lilies  of  France.  But  he  was 
poor,  and  an  exile !  Would  it  be  fair  to  ask  this  fresh, 
beautiful  young  girl  to  share  his  lot  ?  —  and  if  he  asked 
her  would  she  say  "  yes  ?  "  Should  he  woo  her  and  win 
her,  this  fair-haired  girl  who  had  brightened  the  world 
for  him  ? 

He  did  not  hear  the  answer  that  wailed  through  the 
trees,  any  more  than  he  saw  the  tragical  future  that  lay 
before  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

There  is  nothing  in  life  so  sweet  as  love's  young 
dream ;  the  wealth  and  the  honors  that  come  afterward, 
the  fullness  of  gratified  ambition,  the  knowledge  of  the 
world's  respect,  are  all  nothing  compared  to  the  beauty 
and  sweetness  of  love's  young  dream  —  when  the  sun 
shines  and  the  skies  are  blue  for  us ;  when  the  birds  sing 
and  the  flowers  bloom  for  us ;  when  "  love  is  heaven,  and 
heaven  is  love."  It  comes  but  once  in  life ;  other  lovea 
may  succeed  it,  only  one  has  the  sweetness,  the  passioDy 
the  beautj,  and  the  poetry  of  love's  joang  dream* 


S6  THE   BELLE   OF   LTHN. 

It  was  July  now ;  the  languor  of  summer  heat  had  set- 
tled over  the  land;  even  the  red  roses  yielded  to  the 
warmth,  and  the  water-lilies  on  the  great  wide  mere 
seemed  to  be  sleeping  in  the  sun.  Not  many  weeks  since 
the  last  of  the  Soldanas  had  met  the  miller's  daughter, 
and  already  he  had  forgotten  everything  else  in  the  wide 
world.  There  were  times  even  when  he  forgot  the  sturdy 
British  boys  and  their  lessons,  until  a  sharp  note  or  mes- 
sage from  the  principal  bronght  him  back  to  his  senses. 
He  seemed  only  to  live  in  the  time  he  spent  with  her ; 
she  was  the  whole  world  to  him.  To  meet  her  in  the 
early  morning,  to  see  her  at  noon,  to  find  her  down  by 
the  water-side  on  the  lovely  summer  evenings,  had  be- 
come the  end  and  aim  of  his  life.  To  watch  the  loveli- 
ness of  her  face,  to  catch  the  varying  tones  of  her  voice, 
to  tell  her  over  and  over  again  how  dearly  he  loved  her, 
to  kiss  the  white  hands  that  he  clasped  in  his  own,  were 
the  delights  of  his  life.  He  did  not  know  that  any  one 
had  ever  loved  in  the  same  fashion  before ;  he  thought 
it  was  to  them  alone  this  new  revelation  of  life  had  come. 
He  laughed  when  he  remembered  that  he  had  once  found 
exile  and  poverty  hard  to  bear ;  exile  had  brought  him 
to  her  presence ;  poverty  had  led  him  to  find  her ;  wel- 
come both  with  her.  He  had  intended  to  keep  his  secret 
for  a  time,  she  was  so  young,  but  there  came  a  day  when 
it  escaped  him. 

A  beautiful  day  in  June,  when  the  great  sheaves  of 
white  lilies  that  grew  in  the  gardens  of  Allan  Mill  were 
all  in  bloom,  and  Lima,  passing  them  by,  gathered  two 
or  three  lovingly,  and  with  them  she  placed  some  rich 
red  roses.  A  beautiful  silent  June  afternoon,  and  she 
was  going  down  to  the  water's  edge.  As  a  matter  of 
course  she  met  Leon.  How  he  contrived  to  give  to  all 
these  meetings  the  appearance  of  being  accidental  it  was 
impossible  to  say,  but  he  did  so.  Equally,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  he  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  his  attention  was 
caught  by  the  sunlight  on  the  white  shining  petals  of  the 
lily. 

"  How  many  countries  have  floral  emblems !"  he  said. 
"The  lilies  oi  France,  the  roses  of  England,  the  sham- 


THE  BELLE  OP  LTNlf.  87 

rock  of  Ireland,  the  thistle  of  Scotland.     There  are  none 
that  I  love  like  the  regal  white  lilies." 

He  took  one  from  her  liand  as  he  spoke. 

"  The  lilies  of  France  and  the  roses  of  England — which 
will  you  have,  Lima  ?  " 

"  Both,"  she  replied. 

"  Both ! "  he  repeated,  slowly,  placing  two  of  the  beau- 
tiful flowers  close  together.  "  Do  you  know  what  that 
implies  ?" 

"  No,"  she  anwered,  with  a  hot  flush,  "  I  do  not." 

The  golden  haze  of  the  afternoon  dropped  over  them  ; 
the  faint  washing  of  the  waters  as  it  rippled  through  the 
green  grass ;  the  faint  song  of  the  birds,  who  had  sought 
shelter  from  the  heat,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  a 
silence  half  divine. 

"  The  lily  is  beautiful  alone, "  he  said,  "  though  the 
sweet  leaves  are  weak ;  put  lily  and  rose  together,  they 
improve  and  strengthen  each  other.  Lima,  look  at  me 
and  not  at  Allan  Water.  Do  you  see  no  allegory  in 
that?" 

She  would  not  say  so. 

"  My  dear,  I  have  loved  you,"  he  said,  "  from  the  first 
moment  I  saw  you.  If  I  tried  forever  I  could  not  tell 
you  how  much  I  love  you.  If  every  leaf  on  every  tree, 
if  every  blade  of  grass  in  the  meadows,  if  every  single 
drop  in  the  great  sheet  of  Allan  Water  could  speak,  and 
they  spoke  forever,  still  they  could  not  tell  how  much  I 
love  you,  and  I  want  you,  ray  love,  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife  ?  "  she  repeated ;  "  I  have  never  thought 
of  such  a  thing !  " 

"  But  marriage  is  the  end  of  all  true  love,"  he  cried. 
*'  And  you,  oh,  Lima,  if  there  be  any  truth  in  women's 
eyes,  you  love  me." 

The  beautiful  eyes  drooped  from  his,  the  coy,  sweet 
face  turned  now  so  that  lie  should  not  see  it. 

"  In  spite  of  all  my  troubles,"  said  Leon,  "  I  esteem 
myself  the  most  fortunate  of  men.  To  know  you  and  to 
love  you  would  compensate  me  for  the  loss  of  a  crown  or 
a  kingdom.  Oh,  Lima,  say  you  love  me  a  little;  I  will 
win  the  rest     Saj  you  will  be  my  wife," 


28  THE   BELLE  OP  LYNK. 

But  the  shy,  sweet  lips  uttered  do  word  —  a  very 
paroxysm  of  shyness  seemed  to  have  come  over  her. 

"  Lima,  say  one  word  to  me,"  he  pleaded. 

But  Lima  had  no  word.  He  placed  both  lily  and  rose 
in  her  hand : 

"  If  you  will  not  speak  to  me,  Lima,  settle  my  fate  for 
me ;  every  moment  of  suspense  is  an  hour  of  torture  to 
me.  If  you  love  me,  if  you  will  be  my  wife,  give  tlu- 
English  rose  to  me  and  keep  the  French  lily  yourself. 
If — but  I  will  not  utter  the  words.  I  have  faith  in  you  ; 
you  will  try  to  love  me  ;  "  and  a  few  minates  afterward 
the  English  rose  —  fresh,  red,  and  blooming — was  laid  in 
his  hands. 

How  he  kissed  her,  thanked  her,  blessed  her,  words 
could  not  tell.  It  was  the  brief,  sweet  madness  of  love's 
young  dream  —  an  hour  never  to  be  forgotten  by  either ; 
perhaps,  the  most  perfectly  happy  one  in  cither's  life. 
Until  the  day  she  died  Lima  Derwent  preserved  that 
lily,  even  though  it  was  faded,  withered  and  dead.  It 
was  an  hour  snatched  from  life,  bright  with  brightness 
and  love,  sent  straight  from  Heaven. 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  my  own  good  fortune,"  said 
Leon,  after  a  time ;  "  to  think  that  I,  a  poor,  friendless 
exile,  should  win  you.  Why,  Lima,  you  might  be  a 
queen." 

"  I  do  not  think  many  kings  would  come  wooing  me," 
she  said,  laughingly ;  but  he  cried  : 

"  You  are  one  of  nature's  queens,  Lima,  and  now  that 
I  have  won  your  sweet  love,  and  won  you,  tell  me  when 
you  will  marry  me  ?  " 

She  shrunk  back,  scared  and  frightened. 

" That  will  not  be  for  a  long  time  yet,"  she  said  —  "a 
long  time,  Leon." 

"  Ah,  no,  Lima !  "We  love  each  other,  why  should  we 
spend  the  youngest,  brightest,  and  best  years  of  our  life 
apart?  I  have  always  heard  that  early  marriages  are 
best.     Let  me  go  now  to  your  parents  and  ask  them  ? " 

Then  the  beautiful  face  grew  pale  and  scared. 

"  Oh,  Leon,"  she  cried,  "  I  forgot !  " 

"  Forgot  what,  my  darling?  "  he  asked. 

"  The^  will  never  ^ive  me  to  you,"  she  said.     "  I  for- 


THE   BELLE   OP  LYNN.  39 

got,  my  father  has  other  plans  for  me ;  he  does  not  like 
Frenchmen,"  and  she  clung  to  him  with  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

He  laughed  merrily.  To  youth  and  love  what  matters 
fear?  what  the  opposition  of  parents?  what  anything 
except  their  love  ? 

"  Never  mind,  my  darling,  I  will  soon  win  the  liking 
of  father  and  mother — anything  to  gain  you." 

"  You  must  make  them  like  you,  before  you  ask  them 
about  me,"  she  said,  shyly. 

"  I  will  —  I  will  be  patient,  indeed,"  cried  the  last  of 
the  Soldanas,  to  whom  patience  was  an  unknown  virtue. 
"  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  make  them  like  me ;  I  will  go 
this  evening  on  some  pretext  or  other  —  I  know,  I  will 
ask  your  father  if  I  may  sketch  the  waters  from  the 
garden ;  he  will  give  me  permission." 

"  That  he  will,"  said  Lima,  "  and  he  will  give  you 
some  of  his  sparkling  cider !  He  will  be  very  kind  and 
civil  to  you,  unless  he  should  happen  to  think  that  you 
want  me,  and  then  the  story  will  be  different." 

"  But  why  different,  Lima  ?  I  love  you  with  all  the 
strength  and  fervor  of  my  heart ;  I  will  work  for  you  ;  I 
will  make  you  happy." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  she  answered  ;  "  my  father  has  made 
up  his  mind  exactly  what  kind  of  a  husband  I  shall  have. 
I  am  to  marry  what  he  calls  a  gentleman  farmer,  and  it 
will  take  some  time  to  turn  him  from  his  idea." 

"  Then,  Lima,"  said  her  handsome  young  lover,  "  I 
will  tell  you  what  our  wisest  plan  will  be ;  we  will  keep 
our  own  secret ;  we  will  say  nothing  of  love  or  marriage 
until  your  parents  have  learned  to  like  me." 

He  never  for  one  moment  doubted  that  they  would  so 
learn.  He  could  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be 
liked.  He  was  accustomed,  after  all,  to  think  more  of 
himself  as  the  last  of  the  Soldanas,  the  last  of  a  gallant 
race,  the  representative  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  of 
France  ;  he  knew  that  side  of  his  life  best ;  that  any  one 
should  dislike  him,  or  look  down  upon  him  because  he 
was  a  penniless  French  teacher,  did  not  seem  so  natural 
to  him.  It  never  once  occurred  to  him  that  Lima's 
parents  would  object  to  him.     On  the  contrary,  the  idea 


30  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

had  crossed  his  mind  that  it  was  a  great  match  for  a 
simple  country  girl. 

After  all,  he  was  the  Comte  de  Soldana.  He  would 
have  laughed  at  the  notion  of  the  miller  despising  his 
birtl),  his  descent,  his  title,  his  nation,  and  everything 
belonging  to  him. 

He  would  have  laughed  such  a  notion  to  scorn. 

Still  he  was  so  deeply  in  love  with  Lima,  and  so  anX' 
ious  to  win  her  for  his  wife  that  he  became  diplomatic ; 
he  saw  that  he  must  make  his  advances  gently. 

Before  they  parted  they  had  made  all  arrangements; 
Leon  was  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  miller  and  his 
wife ;  he  was  to  call  continually  at  the  mill,  on  one  pre- 
text or  the  other,  until  they  would  understand,  and  then 
he  would  ask  them  for  Lima. 

"  How  shall  I  live  through  all  those  weeks  of  sus- 
pense !  "  he  cried.  "  Swear  to  me,  Lima,  that  nothing 
shall  change  you,  that  nothing  shall  take  you  from  me, 
nothing  shall  induce  you  to  give  me  up.  Promise  me 
that  you  will  love  me  truly  and  faithfully,  and  that  you 
will  love  me  alone  so  long  as  we  both  live." 

And  she  promised.  How  the  promise  was  kept  on  her 
part  and  on  his  is  what  our  story  has  to  tell. 

"  Kemember,"  he  said  to  her,  "  that  a  promise  made 
over  running  water  is  doubly  binding." 

"  I  shall  remember,"  she  replied,  and  she  did  so. 


THE  BELLB  OF  LYlffH.  81 


CHAPTER  VI. 


"  I  CANNOT  quite  understand  it,"  said  the  miller,  "  T 
hate  all  Frenchmen  with  a  true  British  hatred.  I  should 
not  mind  if  there  was  a  Waterloo  every  day." 

"  But,"  interrupted  his  wife,  "  you  must  admit  that 
there  have  been  grand  and  noble  men  in  France." 

"  I  admit  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  replied.  "  I  con- 
sider hatred  of  the  French  £is  one  of  the  upholders  of  the 
British  constitution.  You  say  that  Napoleon  called  us  a 
nation  of  shop-keepers  ;  I  should  call  the  French  a  nation 
of  dancing-masters." 

"  That  is  not  fair,"  said  his  wife,  quickly ;  "  they  are 
more  like  a  nation  of  soldiers." 

The  miller  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  We  will  not  quarrel  about  it,"  he  said.  "  The  whole 
French  nation  may  do  as  it  likes ;  the  thing  which  puz- 
zles me  is  why  this  young  man  comes  here  so  often.  He 
comes  one  day  with  a  present  for  me,  a  dog  —  a  real  St. 
Bernard.  What  do  I  want  with  a  Mount  St.  Bernard 
dog?  Then  he  brings  a  canary,  and  yesterday  I  saw  him 
with  a  great  bunch  of  daphnes.     What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

But  gentle  Mrs.  Derwent  made  no  answer;  she  had 
her  own  fears  as  to  what  it  meant ;  fears  for  the  young 
Frenchman,  who  was  so  handsome,  so  gallant,  so  kind,  so 
chivalrous,  that  she  could  not  help  liking  him,  himself. 

Despite  the  miller's  wonder  at  such  a  state  of  things, 
Leon  had  made  his  way.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  for 
him  in  the  early  morning  to  be  seen  in  the  meadows 
round  the  Mill  of  Allan,  or  rowing  on  the  bright,  deep 
waters ;  then  would  come  a  cheery  greeting  to  the  miller, 
a  greeting  so  warm,  so  genial,  so  kindly,  that,  despite  his 
hatred  of  the  French,  he  was  compelled  to  return  it.  An 
invitation  to  join  the  breakfast  would  at  times  follow, 
always  a  keen  source  of  delight  to  the  young  lover,  for 


32  THE  BELLE   OF   LTSTf^ 

Lima  presided,  looking  as  beautiful,  fresh,  and  blooming 
as  a  newly  blown  rose. 

Again  at  noon,  when  the  college  morning  hours  were 
over,  Leon  would  find  some  pretext  for  calling  at  the 
mill.  But  noon  was  a  busy  hour,  the  miller  was  away 
with  his  men,  and  Mrs.  Derwent  was  engaged  in  house- 
hold duties ;  neither  of  them  knew  how  often  the  little 
boat  was  moored  under  the  big  bay-window  of  Lima's 
room. 

During  the  long,  beautiful  summer  evenings,  when  the 
eweet-scented  hay  lay  in  the  meadows,  and  the  hedges 
were  a  mass  of  brilliant  bloom,  how  could  one  be  surly  ? 

When  the  miller  met  the  handsome,  gallant  young 
fellow  in  the  hay-fields  or  the  lanes,  or  lingering  by 
Allan  Water,  he  could  not  decline  speaking  to  him  ;  and 
80  great  was  the  frank  charm  of  his  manner,  that  even 
when  the  miller  had  resolved  that  he  would  not  exchange 
twenty  words  with  him,  it  would  end  in  an  invitation  to 
supper  and  a  glass  of  cider.  That  was  before  he  began 
to  understand  matters,  or  entertain  even  so  faint  an  idea 
as  to  why  he  came  there. 

During  those  few  weeks  the  lovers  were  on  their  guard. 
The  mother  saw  more  than  the  father  did ;  she  saw  the 
beautiful  girl's  face  flush  and  pale ;  she  saw  the  trem- 
bling hands,  she  heeded  the  faltering  voice,  while  the 
miller  was  blind  and  deaf  to  these  signs. 

"Is  that  young  man  going  to  live  here  altogether?" 
he  cried  out  one  Sunday  afternoon,  when  Leon  had  con- 
trived to  elicit  an  invitation  for  tea  from  Mrs.  Derwent. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  his  wife  answered,  with  a  smile, 
but  there  was  a  sense  of  deadly  fear  at  her  heart.  What 
could  he,  young,  brave,  and  handsome,  want  there  ?  She. 
knew,  but  she  dreaded  to  own  the  truth  even  to  herself. 

It  was  a  beautiful  love  story ;  old  as  love  stories  are 
there  was  something  fresh  and  novel  about  this.  The 
surroundings  were  so  beautiful,  so  fnll  of  poetry ;  the 
young  lover  himself  was  so  handsome  and  so  princely; 
the  girl  he  loved  was  so  fair  and  graceful,  and  the  love 
between  them  was  deep  and  tender. 


THE  BELLK  OF  LTNK.  3t 

"Were  ever  nights  so  fair  as  these  on  which  he  per- 
suaded her  to  go  with  hiin  round  the  wear  while  the 
moon  shone  on  the  waters ;  and  the  boat  would  seem  to 
atop  of  its  own  accord  near  the  water-lilies;  and  there 
was  no  one  to  overhear  the  passion  of  his  words,  no  one 
to  see  the  loving  caresses  that  he  lavished  upon  her? 
The  Soldanas  had  always  been  proficient  in  tne  art  of 
lo^'e-making.  Were  ever  mornings  so  bright  as  these  on 
-vilich  he  met  her  at  sunrise,  and  they  spent  long  bright 
hours  amongst  the  flowers  ? 

"  Do  you  think  I  may  speak  now  ?  "  was  the  young 
lover's  constant  cry.  "  Oh,  Lima,  I  am  so  tired  of  wait- 
ing !  Your  mother  likes  me,  I  know  she  does,  and  your 
father  will  like  me  in  time,  Lima ;  I  am  sure  he  will. 
Oh,  let  me  speak  to  him.  You  do  not  know  what  I 
suffer  —  you  do  not  know  what  a  torture  suspense  is  to 
me !  I  sit  in  the  same  room  with  you,  and  I  dare  not 
come  near  you  —  your  beautiful  face  comes  near  me  and 
1  dare  not  kiss  it !  Do  you  know  how  often  I  stretch 
out  my  hands  with  an  unutterable  longing  to  take  you 
to  my  heart,  and  there  is  only  the  cold  empty  air.  Oh, 
Lima,  Lima !  let  me  speak  !  " 

But  she  always  made  the  same  answer : 

"  Not  yet,  Leon  —  not  just  yet ;  let  my  father  grow 
more  accustomed  to  you." 

"  But,"  he  would  remonstrate,  "  unless  I  tell  your 
father  soon,  he  will  find  it  out  for  himself ;  he  will  begin 
to  ask  himself  why  I  am  always  at  the  mill ;  besides,  if 
I  do  not  tell  him  others  will." 

"  What  others  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  laughed  a  proud,  happy  laugh." 

"  My  darling  Lima,"  he  said,  "  there  are  very  few 
people  who  do  not  know  how  I  worship  the  Belle  of 
I^tin,  and  I  am  proud  of  it.  Let  me  speak,  Lima. 
Your  father  cannot  say  nay  to  me;  tell  me  why  you  are 
so  afraid." 

"  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "  I  am 
sure  it  will  hurt  you." 

"  I  am  sure  it  will  not,  Lima  ;  tell  me." 

"  My  father  cannot  endure  Frenchmen.  He  will  never 
jet  me  marry  jon,  Leon,  because  of  that." 


34  THB  BELLE  OF   LTHN. 

"  I  am  English  enough,  sweet  Lima,  in  my  love  for 
you,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  prejudice  on  his  part,  and  I  shall 
be  able  to  overcome  it." 

He  flung  back  his  head  with  the  air  of  a  victorious 
young  prince.  What  did  the  opinion  and  the  prejudice 
of  this  English  miller  matter  to  the  last  of  the  Soldanas  ? 
If  he  were  in  his  own  land,  on  his  own  domain,  this  man 
would  be  so  greatly  his  inferior  that  there  would  be  no 
communication  between  them. 

"  We  are  so  happy  as  we  are,"  sighed  the  girl.  "  Do 
you  know,  Leon,  that  even  the  golden  beauty  of  the 
8umn)er  seems  to  be  part  of  our  love  ?  Why  should  we 
seek  for  a  change  ? " 

"  Because,  my  darling,  the  change  will  come  whether 
we  seek  it  or  not.     Let  us  be  ready  for  it." 

"  A  few  days,"  she  pleaded ;  "  only  a  few  days  more, 
Leon — " 

"  And  then  you  will  consent,  Lima  ;  you  will  make  no 
more  objections  ? " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  faintly ;  "  but,  Leon,  I  am  sore 
afraid ! " 

"  You  need  not  be ;  you  would  not  be  if  you  knew  how 
much  I  would  dare  to  win  you.  I  would  swim  over  an 
ocean,  I  would  cross  a  desert  of  sand,  I  would  walk  over 
read-hot  plow-shares  to  reach  you.   Why  need  you  fear  ? " 

He  drew  her,  with  a  passionate  gesture,  to  his  heart ; 
he  kissed  the  beautiful  face,  on  which  a  faint  shadow  of 
pain  lay ;  and  Lima  laid  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Tell  me  why  you  fear  so  much,  my  Lima  ?  I  fear 
nothing." 

"  We  are  so  happy  now,"  she  whispered ;  "  and  what 
should  we  do  if  my  father  refused  his  consent  ?  " 

"  He  would  never  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  cried  the 
ardent  young  lover.  "  Why  should  he  ?  Why  should  he 
refuse  to  give  you  to  me  —  because  I  am  a  Frenchman  I 
Ah,  Lima,  there  is  no  need  to  fear." 

"  There  is,  and  I  do  fear ;  we  are  so  happy  now,  Leon  ; 
I  see  you  every  day,  sometimes  more  often  than  that 
even  — let  us  be  content." 

"  But,  my  darling,"  he  cried,  passionately,  "  this  state 
of  things  cannot  last  I    It  is  not  only  that  I  love  you,  bat 


THE   BELLE   OF  LYNK.  S5 

I  trant  to  marry  you  !  I  want  you  for  my  own !  I  want 
a  home,  Lima,  and  you  for  its  mistreee.  Do  you  not  see 
and  understand  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"  The  end  of  all  love  is  marriage,"  he  continued.  "  I 
want  you  in  ray  own  home.  I  want  you  for  my  own.  I 
cannot  live  without  you." 

"  We  are  so  much  together,  Leon,"  she  said. 

"  But  it  is  not  the  same  thing.  We  will  have  a  home 
in  the  trees,  just  as  the  birds  build  their  nests.  Oh,  Lima, 
my  heart  grows  warm  when  I  think  of  it.  A  home,  all 
our  own,  where  you  shall  be  mistress  and  queen,  and  I 
your  loving  lover."  He  thought  but  little  of  the  ways 
and  means,  she  even  less ;  it  was  all  love  —  love.  "  I  shall 
always  be  your  lover,  Lima.  I  shall  always  love  you  just 
as  I  do  now — more,  even,  as  the  years  pass  on,  but  never 
less." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  a  mist  of  tears  dimming 
her  lovely  eyes. 

"  I  am  so  happy,  Leon ;  but  if  my  father  refused,  what 
should  we  do  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  refuse,  my  darling." 

"  But,"  she  persisted,  "  what  shall  we  do — if  he  does  ?  " 

"Time  enough  to  think  of  that  emergency  when  it 
comes,"  he  replied.  "  Let  me  ask  him,  I  am  quite  sure 
all  will  come  right." 

"  I  am  quite  as  sure  it  will  not,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  I 
have  a  presentiment  over  it." 

"  Let  me  drive  the  presentiment  away,"  he  cried,  kiss- 
ing the  beautiful  face  until  the  smiles  and  the  color  came 
back  to  it.  "  That  is  a  proper  way  to  treat  a  presenti- 
ment. Have  another,  Lima,  which  requires  the  sam* 
treatment." 

She  laughed. 

"  But,  Leon,"  she  said,  "  if  my  father  says  no,  then  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  see  each  other." 

He  laughed. 

"  My  darling,  if  a  line  of  burning  mountains  parted  us 
I  should  scale  them.  Nothing  will  ever  keep  me  from 
yon  —  nothing  could.    Do  you  remember  the  lines  you 


36  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNK. 

snug  the  other  night,  and  they  came  floating  acroM  Allan 
"Water?" 

"  I  do  not  remember,"  she  said. 

"I  do ;  and  I  thought  at  the  time  how  well  they 
applied  to  you  and  to  me,  if  there  should  be  opposition. 

"  '  My  father  he  has  locked  the  door, 
My  mother  keeps  the  key, 
But  neither  boltsnorbars  shall  keep 
My  own  true  love  from  me.' 

"  Let  me  speak  to  him,  Lima,  and  have  no  fear.  There 
is  no  spot  upon  earth  where  you  could  be  hidden  that  I 
could  not  find  you,  and  there  is  no  power  on  earth  that 
shall  keep  me  from  you." 

So  the  words  stand  as  he  uttered  them — to  this  day. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

Nevee  had  the  meadows  yielded  so  much  hay ;  never 
had  the  corn  stood  so  tall,  straight,  and  golden ;  never 
had  the  free  and  happy  barley  laughed  more  gayly  in  the 
sunshine;  never  had  tho  gardens  bloomed  with  fairer 
flowers ;  never  had  the  orchards  borne  richer  fruit.  The 
miller,  as  he  looked  round  him,  felt  his  heart  grow  elated ; 
here  was  plenty.  Plenty  of  golden  grain,  plenty  of  rich 
promise ;  there  would  be  more  gold  in  the  coffers  he  was 
filling  for  her,  the  daughter  who  was  to  him  the  very 
pride  of  his  life :  coffers  that  were  filling  fast,  and  all  for 
her. 

This  summer  was  so  fine  and  so  fair,  it  seemed  as 
tlkough  every  blade  of  grass  must  yield  good  profit. 

The  miller  was  well  content;  the  sun  shone  on  his 
huge  hay-stacks,  on  the  rich  harvest,  on  the  mill  that 
never  rested,  day  or  night,  on  the  mill-stream,  always 
flowing,  and  on  Allan  Water,  stretching  out  far  and 
wide  ;  he  was  well  content. 

The  day's  work  was  over,  the  men  had  gone  home,  the 
birds  were  going  to  rest,  the  blue  pigeons  had  gone  to 
dieir  oote,  the  sun  was  setting,  and  the  rose-lights  from 


THB   BBLLB   OF  LTHK.  37 

the  clouds  lingered  on  the  waters ;  the  air  was  soft  and 
balmy.  "  I  will  not  go  in-doors,"  said  the  miller  to  his 
wife ;  "  I  will  have  my  glass  of  cider  out  here." 

"  Out  here,"  meant  a  beautiful  little  arbor  covered 
with  a  wealth  of  climbing  roses,  standing  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  limes,  and  looking  over  the  broad 
expanse  of  Allan  Water.  An  arbor  that  had  been  made 
purposely  for  the  miller,  where  he  could  enjoy  his  pipe 
and  his  glass  while  he  looked  round  on  his  possessions. 

Here  on  this  sweet  July  night  he  went  to  sit  and  enjoy 
the  sunset,  to  enjoy  the  sparkling  cider  and  his  own 
thoughts.  They  were  proud  and  happy  ones.  He  had 
been  a  fortunate  man ;  no  one  but  himself  knew  the 
amount  that  was  daily  increasing  for  the  dowery  of  his 
beautiful  daughter.  He  was  well  content  over  her ;  she 
was  beautiful  by  nature ;  he  had  given  her  the  education 
of  a  lady,  and  he  held  a  fortune  in  his  hand  for  her. 

The  very  joy  of  his  heart !  He  meant  her  to  marry  an 
English  gentleman.  He  was  delighted  to  remember  that 
Squire  Leslie,  of  the  Grange,  had  met  him  yesterday,  and 
had  spent  fully  five  minutes  in  praising  her,  and  had  said 
there  was  not  a  more  beautiful  girl  in  England,  and  had 
very  broadly  hinted  that  he  should  be  well  pleased  to 
visit  the  Mill  of  Allan. 

"  That  is  what  will  happen,"  the  miller  said  to  him- 
self ;  "  some  one  worthy  the  name  of  an  English  gentle- 
man  will  see  her,  love  her,  and  marry  her.  It  may  be 
the  squire  himself,  and  I  could  not  wish  any  brighter  lot 
for  my  darling  than  that.  To  be  the  wife  of  a  man  like 
the  squire,  and  mistress  of  a  home  like  the  Grange !  She 
would  not  go  to  him  empty-handed  either,  my  beautiful 
Lima!" 

A  shadow  fell  where  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  had 
been  shining  brightly ;  a  fair,  nandsome  head  looked  in 
through  the  trellis-work ;  two  eager,  gray  eyes  scanned 
the  miller's  face. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  said  Leon  de  Soldana.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Derwent,  very  particularly." 

This  descendant  of  a  fine  old  race  had  a  deep,  musical 
Toice  of  his  own,  and  there  was  in  it  a  tone  of  comniancji 


38  THE  BBLLB   OF   LTNN. 

which  came  from  the  ancestors  who  had  led  troops  to 
battle,  and  whose  word  had  been  law  with  men. 

The  miller's  ear  was  quick  and  keen  enough  to  detect 
it,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  say : 

"  No,  I  would  rather  be  alone  ;  "  but  the  face  was  so 
handsome  and  the  manner  so  courtly  they  proved  irre- 
sistible. 

"  Yes,  come  in,"  said  the  miller,  and  the  tall,  shapely 
figure  of  the  young  Frenchman  came  out  of  the  shadows 
the  lime-trees  cast,  and  stood  by  his  side.  There  was  a 
flush  on  the  handsome  face,  and  a  light  in  the  keen  eyes 
that  told  a  story. 

There  was  an  expression  of  something  like  impatience 
on  the  fine  features,  and  a  nervous  quiver  on  the  month 
that  had  all  a  women's  tenderness  with  a  man's  pride. 
He  had  said  to  himself,  as  he  drew  near  the  rose-covered 
arbor,  that  it  was  not  in  this  fashion  the  lords  of  Soldana 
had  been  accustomed  to  woo ;  they  had  not  gone  humbly 
cap  in  hand,  to  ask  the  gift  of  a  daughter's  hand.  But 
he  !  —  he  would  do  anything  to  win  this  beautiful  Lima 
for  his  own.  He  stood  by  the  miller's  side,  not  in  the 
least  degree  afraid,  but  wondering  how  he  could  tell  this 
practical,  matter-of-fact  looking  man  of  the  deep  worship 
and  love  that  filled  his  heart  for  his  daughter.  He  would 
not  have  hesitated  or  quailed  for  one  second  before  a 
regiment  of  foes  with  drawn  swords ;  he  would  have 
remembered  the  battle-cry  of  the  Soldanas,  and  would 
have  dashed  ahead.  But  before  the  sturdy  matter-of-fact 
British  miller  he  sat  silent,  not  knowing  how  to  begin  his 
story. 

"  Well,"  said  the  miller,  "  you  have  something  to  say 
to  me  ? " 

"  I  ha\«»  and  I  find  myself  a  coward  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,"  answered  Leon ;  and  the  miller  looked  curi- 
ously at  him. 

'*  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  —  it  does  not  look  well  for 
what  you  are  going  to  say.  '  Conscience  makes  cowards 
of  us  all.' " 

"  It  is  not  conscience  in  my  case,  but  love,"  he  replied, 
hotly.  "  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words :  I  love  your 
daughter  —  I  love  her  with  all  the  force  and  passion  o| 


THE  BELLE  OP  LYNH.  3ft 

my  heart,  and  I  want  you  to  give  her  to  me  to  be  my 
wife." 

Profound  silence.  The  words  on  his  lips  seemed  to 
die  away.  The  only  change  in  the  miller  was  that  his 
comely,  ruddy  face  grew  white  and  livid. 

'•  I  love  her,"  the  young  man  went  on,  "  as  no  one  else 
ev(;r  could.    She  is  the  very  sunlight  of  Heaven  to  me." 

He  might  have  been  warned  by  the  tremor  of  passion 
that  passed  over  the  miller's  face ;  but  he  did  not  notice 
it ;  he  was  intent  on  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  Give  her  to  me,"  he  pleaded,  "  and  I  will  love  and 
serve  her  all  my  life.  I  will  work  for  her,  and  make 
her  the  happiest  wife  in  the  world." 

Still  silence  that  was  more  terrible  than  words,  and 
the  miller's  anger  gathered  force  as  the  moments  rolled 
on. 

"  I  know,"  continued  the  young  love*  "  that  I  am  ask- 
ing much.  I  am  asking  you  for  th(  greatest  treasure 
you  have  in  the  world." 

Brave  as  he  was,  he  started  back  in  wondering  terror 
when  the  miller  turned  his  white,  angry  face  to  him,  and 
cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder : 

"  Hush !  If  you  value  your  life,  do  not  say  another 
word !  I — I  am  not  master  of  myself  when  I  am  angry  I 
I  might  commit  murder^ 

"  Murder !  "  cried  the  astonished  young  lover.  "  Surely 
you  do  not  understand." 

"  I  understand  only  too  well,"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 
"  You  dare  ask  me  for  my  daughter !  " 

"  I  dare,"  he  replied,  "  by  right  of  my  love  for  her. 
I  love  her ;  my  love  is  my  excuse,  if  I  need  one." 

Tlie  great  veins  stood  out  red  and  swelled  on  the 
miller's  forehead  and  on  his  clinched  hands. 

"  I  am  trying  hard  to  control  myself,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  am  afraid." 

"  Speak  fairly  to  me !  "  the  young  lover  cried.  "  I  have 
done  you  no  harm,  no  injury;  I  have  brought  an  honest, 
loving  heart,  and  laid  it  at  your  daughter's  feet ;  surely 
that  is  no  wrong." 

"No,  it  is  no  wrong,"  replied  the  miller,  his  voice 
trembling  with  pasaou  —  "  ro  wr ongi  except  that  you 


40  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

ought  never  to  have  dared  to  raise  your  eyes  to  her. 
Still,  as  you  say  you  have  done  no  wrong,  I  will  be 
patient.  You  ask  for  my  daughter ;  I  answer  '  no,'  a 
thousand  times  '  no  ; '  my  daughter  shall  never  be  a  wife 
of  yours.  No  need  to  prolong  the  discussion,  there  is  not 
another  word  to  say.  '  No.'   You  hear  my  answer.    Go  I  " 

"  I  have  a  right  to  hear  more,"  said  the  young  lover. 
"  Why  do  you  send  me  away  ;  why  do  you  refuse  to  give 
uie  the  girl  I  love,  and  who  loves  me?  " 

"  Who  what  ?  "  cried  the  miller. 

"  Who  loves  me,"  repeated  Leon.  "  That  is  my  claim 
to  your  hearing :  your  daughter  loves  me  as  I  love  her." 

The  very  calm  of  passion,  the  wbite  heat  of  anger 
came  over  the  miller's  face. 

"  My  daughter  loves  you  f  "  he  cried.  "  I  refuse  to 
believe  it !     It  is  utterly  impossible  !  " 

"  It  is  most  perfectly  true.  I  love  her,  and  she  lovei 
me.     Why  will  you  not  give  her  to  me  'i  " 

"  Give  her  to  a  penniless  Frenchman  ?  No,  I  have  not 
brought  her  up  as  a  lady  for  such  a  fate  as  that.  I  love 
her :  she  is  the  very  core  of  my  heart ;  but  I  would  rather 
see  her  dead  —  ah!  drowned  and  dead  there  in  Allan 
Water — than  give  her  to  you." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asks,  briefly. 

"  First,  because  you  are  a  Frenchman,  and  my  daughter 
shall  marry  no  dancing-master,  no  foreigner ;  if  she  mar- 
ries at  all,  her  husband  shall  be  a  stalwart  Englishman." 

"  I  am  as  strong  and  fearless  as  any  Englishman,"  said 
Leon  de  Sold  an  a. 

"  Your  strength  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter. 
My  daughter  shall  have  an  honest  English  gentleman  for 
iier  husband,  not  a  Frenchman ;  no,  not  even  if  he  were 
a  king," 

"  I  am  not  a  king,"  said  Leon  gravely,  "  but  I  am  as 
well-born  as  many  a  monarch  who  has  sat  upon  a  throne." 

"  What  ? "  cried  the  miller,  and  it  is  no  exaggeration  to 
say  that  he  roared  rather  than  shouted. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  the  young  man,  "  my  family  is  one 
of  the  oldest  in  France.  My  ancestors  fftught  like  heroes 
in  the  Crusades ;  many  a  king  has  reigned  less  nobly  born 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN.  41 

than  I.    Poor  as  I  am,  much  as  you  despise  me,  I  who 
stand  a  suppliant  before  you  am  Leon,  Count  de  Soldana." 

"  A  penniless  count !  "  cried  the  miller ;  "  you  could 
not  have  said  more  to  ruin  yourself  in  my  esteem.  I  hate 
all  foreigners,  I  hate  all  aristocrats :  a  man  with  a  title  is 
odious  in  my  sight.  If  any  man  can  be  more  than  a  radi- 
cal, I  am  that  man.  And  you  think  the  paltry,  empty  title 
of  count  will  please  me.  Let  that  pass ;  count  or  no  count 
you  are  a  Frenchman  —  that  is  reason  enough  for  me.  i 
would  rather  give  my  daughter  in  marriage  to  Hodge,  tlio 
plowman,  than  to  you.  You  are  poor,  and  my  beautiful 
Lima  is  not,  you  understand,  to  marry  a  poor  man.  I  have 
brought  her  up  as  a  lady — those  little  white  hands  of 
hers  shall  never  be  stained  with  toil  as  her  motner's  have 
been.  She  shall  marry  a  gentleman.  I  have  saved  a 
fortune  for  her.     She  is  not  for  you.     Go !  " 

But  Leon  de  Soldana  stood  motionless,  while  the  pas- 
sionate torrent  of  words  ran  on- 


CHAPTER  VIIIo 

Finding  that  his  words  produced  no  effect,  the  miller 
repeated  them,  but  the  young  lover  held  his  ground. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  let  prejudice  guide  you,"  he 
said.     "  You  are  not  just." 

"  I  am  more  than  just,  if  that  be  possible,"  cried  John 
Derwent.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  educated  my  daughter 
and  worked  hard  to  save  a  fortune  for  her  in  order  that 
she  may  marry  a  man  who  has  no  home,*no  money,  nn 
prospects  ? " 

"  I  shall  make  a  home,  and  I  have  prospects,"  he  an- 
swered, gravely.  Do  listen  to  me  in  patience,  even  if 
only  for  a  few  minutes.  If  you  will  give  her  to  me,  I 
will  make  a  pretty  home  for  her.  There  is  a  beautiful 
little  cottage  near  Lynn,  just  what  she  likes,  lying  in  the 
midst  of  the  trees.  1  will  take  that  and  furnish  it ;  I  can 
Pive  money  for  that ;  and  then  I  will  double  my  income 
by  teaching  French  in  the  town  of  Lynn.  I  will  work  as 
man  never  worked  before,  if  only  you  will  give  her  to 


42  THK  BBLLB  OF   LTNIT. 

me;  and  we  should  be  rich,  becanse  we  should  be 
happy." 

The  scorn  that  deepened  on  the  miller's  face  was 
wonderful  to  see. 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  there  is  no  prayer  you  could 
make,  there  is  nothing  you  could  say  or  do  which  could 
for  one  moment  induce  me  to  consent.  My  daughter 
shall  never  be  your  wife  —  do  not  let  me  hear  another 
word  of  it.     It  can  never  be ! " 

The  young  lover  raised  his  head  gallantly. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  you  have  the  right  to  make  your 
own  daughter  miserable  for  life  just  because  she  is  your 
daughter ! " 

"  I  have  a  right  to  do  what  1  like  with  my  own,"  said 
the  miller,  doggedly. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  make  any  one  miserablcj 
whether  they  belong  to  you  or  not,"  said  Leon. 

"  Now,"  said  the  miller,  "  I  have  heard  enough.  From 
this  moment  you  may  give  up  all  thoughts  of  my  daugh- 
ter, and  you  must  not  come  near  my  house  again  !  " 

"  You  seem  to  think  little  enough  of  the  pain  you  will 
give  your  daughter,"  said  Leon,  bitterly. 

"  She  will  not  suffer  much  pain  if  she  has  the  spirit  I 
give  her  credit  for.  Does  she  know  the  foolish  errand 
on  which  you  have  sought  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it  1 "  cried  the  miller,  fiercely. 
*'  She  knows  me  and  my  opinions  too  well  to  think  that  I 
should  give  my  consent  to  her  marriage  with  a  penniless 
foreigner,  a  man  with  an  emptv  title,  forsooth!  She 
knows  me  too  well  for  that.  Now,  you  go;  keep  to 
your  teaching,  and  leave  love-making  alone.  Since  you 
do  not  seem  inclined  to  leave  me,  I  will  go  into  the 
house,  where  I  do  not  ask  you  to  follow  me.  Good- 
might." 

Without  another  word  the  miller  went  away,  leaving 
the  young  lover  with  bitter  desolation  in  his  heart,  bitter 
anger  against  this  homely  matter-of-fact  man  who  had 
scoffed  at  his  ancestors,  laughed  at  his  title,  and  refused 
him  his  daughter.  It  was  not  thus  that  the  Soldanas  had 
been  treated  when  they  went  forth  to  woo. 


THE  BELLE  OF   LYNN.  43 

"  I  will  have  her,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  she  lores  me, 
and  I  will  have  her,  in  spite  of  all." 
And  he  sung  the  lines : 

"  '  My  father  he  has  locked  the  door, 
My  mother  keeps  the  key ; 
But  neither  boltsnorlocks  shall  keep 
My  own  true  love  from  me.' 

"  Nothing  shall  keep  me  from  her  —  I  shall  win  her  in 
spite  of  all  opposition,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles.  I  would 
win  her  from  the  very  arms  of  death." 

But  it  was  in  vain  that  evening  that  he  lingered  round 
the  banks  of  Allan  Water ;  there  was  no  gleam  of  a  blue 
dress,  no  bright  sheen  of  golden  hair,  n»  lovely  young 
face  flushed  with  delight  at  meeting  him. 

When  night  fell  he  unfastened  the  boat  and  rowed 
across  Allan  Water ;  but  there  was  no  light  in  the  win- 
dow, no  sound  of  sweet  music  floating  over  the  waters. 
All  was  silent ;  even  the  very  winds  were  cold  and  still. 

There  was,  for  the  first  time,  the  sound  of  angry  words 
in  the  Mill  of  Allan.  The  miller  had  gone  home  angry 
and  ill-content ;  nothing  could  have  been  more  annoying, 
more  irritating  to  him  than  this.  If  one  of  his  own  plow- 
men had  fallen  in  love  with  his  daughter,  and  had  asked 
her  hand  in  marriage,  he  would  not  have  been  one  half 
80  angry.  A  penniless  Frenchman,  a  teacher  in  a  school, 
a  man  with  a  title  that  was  not  worth  a  shilling — nothing 
could  have  been  worse!  And  for  him  to  say  that  his 
beautiful  Lima  loved  him !  More  and  more  angry  grew 
the  miller.  Why,  what  would  Squire  Leslie  say  if  he 
heard  this  ?  The  Belle  of  Lynn  to  marry  a  poor  teacher, 
who  had  neither  home  nor  money !  —  she  who  had  been 
brought  up  a  lady,  and  was  to  have  a  fortune. 

He  went  into  the  pretty  parlor  that  night  with  a  frown 
on  his  face  for  the  first  time.  The  windows  of  the  room 
did  not  look  over  Allan  Water,  but  on  to  the  beautiful 
flower-garden.  There,  in  the  garden,  he  saw  his  wife, 
who  was  busy  tying  up  some  carnations,  and  his  daugh- 
ter, who  was  standing  with  her  face  turned  to  the  west, 
wondering  why  her  lover  had  not  returned  to  her,  and 
why  there  was  no  sign  of  him  near  Allan  MilL    That 


44  THE  BILLB  OF  LTKH. 

beautiful  girl  to  marry  a  penniless  Frenchman  I  Nevei 
while  the  sun  shone,  and  he  lived  to  prevent  it ! 

He  opened  the  glass  door  that  led  to  the  garden. 

"Helen,"  he  cried  to  his  wife,  "I  want  to  speak  to 
you ! " 

He  saw  his  daughter  start  at  the  unusual  sound  of 
anger  in  his  voice.     She  came  forward  with  rapid  steps. 

"  I  want  you  both,"  said  the  miller.  "  I  have  been 
vexed  and  angry  ;  but  I  will  try  to  be  calm  while  I  tell 
you.  Helen — laraa,  my  darling,  that  young  Frenchman 
has  been  here,  and  has  dared  to  ask  me  if  he  may  marry 
you ! " 

"  Oh,  father !  "  cried  the  girl,  hiding  her  blushing  face 
in  her  hands. 

"  Can  you  believe  it  ?  "  cried  the  miller,  fuming  with 
rage — "  a  teacher,  a  Frenchman,  a  man  without  a  shilling, 
and  boasting  of  an  empty  title  to  boot!  Oh,  my  darling," 
he  added,  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  tenderness,  as  ne 
clasped  her  to  his  breast  —  "  my  darling,  I  did  not  make 
vou  a  lady  for  this!  I  have  sent  him  away,  and  told 
him  that  he  is  never  to  come  here  again." 

A  low  wail  of  pain  came  from  the  girl's  lips ;  but  he 
was  too  excited  to  hear  it. 

"  There  will  be  no  repetition  of  the  nonsense,  for  I 
have  told  him  he  is  never  to  cross  the  threshold  of  my 
door  again." 

Then  the  pale  face  looked  wistfully  at  him,  and  a  voice 
from  which  all  the  music  had  died,  said  : 

"  Father,  do  not  say  that ;  you  will  kill  me  if  you  say 
that — for  I  love  him." 

He  clasped  her  with  fierce  passion  to  his  breast. 

"  Nay,  my  darling,  you  will  not  die ;  you  will  soon  for- 
get him ;  he  is  not  half  good  enough  for  you.  We  will 
find  an  English  husband  for  my  Lima." 

She  shrunk  from  him,  pale  and  scared. 

"  I  do  not  want  any  one  else.  Ah,  father !  do  you  not 
understand  ?  I  love  him ;  and  I  love  him  all  the  more 
because  he  is  very  poor  and  friendless,  and  is  an  exile 
from  his  own  land  I  " 

"Nonsense."  said  the  miller,  brusquely.     ^It  showi 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  45 

what  his  native  land  thinks  of  him  when  he  is  sent  away 
from  it." 

"Nay,  father,  that  is  not  like  yon  —  it  is  not  just!" 
cried  the  girl.  "  His  poverty  and  exile  are  his  misfor- 
tune, not  his  fault." 

"  All  right,  my  dear,"  said  the  miller,  impatiently,  "  we 
need  not  say  any  more  about  him ;  we  have  done  with 
him  now." 

"  Father,"  she  interrupted,  "  you  cannot  put  out  all 
the  sunshine  of  my  life  in  this  fashion  —  you  cannot 
mean  what  you  say !  You  have  always  been  so  kind  to 
me  —  no  father  was  ever  so  kind  to  a  daughter  as  you 
have  been  to  me — you  will  not  break  my  heart  or  make 
me  miserable  for  life.  Do  you  remember,  when  I  was 
quite  a  little  girl  and  wanted  anything  you  taught  me 
always  to  come  to  you !  You  have  never  refused  me  one 
wish  —  you  have  never  been  unkind  to  me  in  all  my  life ; 
surely  you  will  not  begin  now !  " 

"  I  would  not  hurt  one  hair  of  your  dear  head,  my  lady 
lassie,"  said  the  miller.  "  You  are  young  and  have  no 
experience.  I  shall  prevent  you  from  throwing  yourself 
away  on  a  young  fellow  who  has  nothing  to  recommend 
him  except  a  handsome  face.  You  must  not  do  that. 
You  have  been  brought  up  a  lady,  and  you  will  have  a 
good  fortune ;  I  have  worked  hard  for  it,  and  I  have  saved 
it  for  you.     You  must  marry  an  English  gentleman." 

"  Father,"  said  the  girl,  while  the  tears  ran  down  her 
face,  "  do  not  break  my  heart.  Let  me  marry  the  man  I 
love." 

"  Yon  will  be  all  right,  my  dear ;  yon  need  not  break 
your  heart,"  he  went  on,  with  rough  tenderness ;  "  your 
mother  must  take  you  out  a  little.  You  shall  go  to  the 
sea-side  —  anything  to  cheer  you.  I  could  curse  the 
man,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  ferocity,  "  when  I  see  the 
tears  on  vour  face." 

She  snrunk  from  him,  more  pale  and  scared  than 
before. 

"  Do  not  say  such  terrible  things,"  she  cried ;  but  an 
expression  of  great  resolution  had  come  over  the  miller'e 
face. 

"  Let  us  make  an  end  of  this,  Lima,"  he  said,    "  X 


46  THE  BIUiLE  07  LTMH. 

would  not  refuse  you  anything  else  in  the  wide  world, 
*nd  I  will  make  your  life  as  happy  as  life  can  be,  but  we 
must  have  no  more  of  this.     Listen  to  me :  I  will  never 

five  my  consent  to  this  marriage — never,  and  I  have  f or- 
idden  theyoung  man  ever  to  come  here  again.  Take 
care,  you,  Helen,  my  wife,  and  you,  Lima,  my  daughter, 
that  he  is  never  seen  here." 

"  Oh,  father,  be  pitiful  to  me,"  she  cried.  "  I  cannot 
bear  it." 

"  You  must  choose,  my  darling,  between  him  and  me," 
Baid  the  miller,  and  his  voice  was  hoarse  with  emotion ; 
"  between  him  and  me,  my  lady  lassie.  I  am  the  father 
who  loves  yon,  nursed  you,  guided  your  little  footsteps, 
taught  your  little  lips  to  pray,  who  has  worked  for  you. 
I  went  without  many  a  thing  that  the  money  might  be 
put  aside  for  you.  You  have  only  known  this  young  man 
a  few  weeks ;  will  you  give  me  up  for  him  ? " 

"  No,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him,  with  sobs  and  tears. 
"  You  know  I  could  never  give  you  up,  father." 

"  But,  my  darling,  it  lies  between  us ;  you  must  give 
up  your  father,  or  the  man  whom  you  consider  your 
lover." 

"  How  can  I  tear  my  heart  in  twain  ? "  she  cried. 

"  Better  to  cry  a  little  now  than  to  cry  much  more  in 
the  years  to  come,"  said  the  miller.  "  Here,  wife,  come 
and  console  her ;  but  remember  there  is  to  be  no  more  of 
this — the  young  man  is  never  to  be  seen  here  again." 

And  the  gin  flung  herself,  weeping,  on  her  mother's 
breAst,  while  the  miller  left  the  room  without  another 
word. 


TMB  BILLS  or  LTm.  41 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IruKnro  the  first  few  minutes  that  the  mother  was  left 
■with  her  child  she  said  nothing,  but  smoothed  the  golden 
hair  with  a  loving  hand,  then  she  kissed  the  beautiful, 
tear-stained  face. 

"  Do  not  cry  so  bitterly,  Lima  —  tell  me  about  it ;  I 
wish  I  had  known,  I  should  have  warned  you ;  yet  I  had 
my  fears.     Do  you  love  him  so  very  much,  child  ?  " 

"  I  love  him  with  all  my  heart,  mother,"  was  the  an 
•wer  given,  with  bitter  sighs  and  tears. 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  know  so  little  of  him  —  he  is  a 
■tranger  to  you." 

"  Ah,  no ;  he  has  never  seemed  like  a  stranger.  You 
will  not  be  angry  with  me,  mother,  if  I  tell  you !  " 

"  I  could  not  be  angry  with  you,  my  dear,  for  this," 
gaid  the  gentle  mother,  with  a  loving  memory  of  the 
days  when  the  miller  had  wooed  her,  and  she  had  though* 
herself  the  happiest  girl  in  the  wide  world. 

"  Do  you  remember,  mother,"  she  said,  "  that  after- 
noon when  Mrs.  Grey  came  over  to  talk  to  you  about 
him  — about  his  coming  to  the  farm?  I  had  never  seen 
him  then,  but  I  thought  so  much  of  him,  and  I  heard 
how  handsome  and  kind  and  brave  he  was.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  he  was  quite  different  from  other  men.  I 
thought  so  much  about  him  —  and  I  had  not  seen  him 
then." 

The  beautiful  face  grew  crimson,  and  the  fair  head 
drooped. 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  could  not  help  it ;  after  I  had  seen  him  and  spoken  to 
him,  I  am  afraid  I  thought  of  nothing  else.  I  loved  him 
go  much.  I  wonder  if  the  same  thing  comes  to  other 
girls.  After  I  had  spoken  to  him  he  seemed  to  be  part 
of  myself — part  of  my  life  —  and  I  could  not  tell  how  it 
was.  I  saw  his  face  everywhere ;  whether  I  was  walking 
or  sleeping,  thinking  or  dreaming,  there  it  was,  the  beau- 
tiful gray  eyes  looking  into  mine.    I  cannot  describe  ity 


^8  THK   BKLLB   OP  LTHIT. 

but  love  of  him  seemed  to  enter  into  everything ;  it  w%8 
in  the  sunshine,  in  the  bloom  and  perfume  of  the  flowers, 
it  was  even  in  the  shining  light  that  lies  on  Allan  "Water. 
All  my  life  that  lay  behind  me  seemed  to  be  nothing ; 
there  was  nothing  in  it.  Oh,  I  know  it  was  all  wrong  or 
strange,  but  I  seemed  only  to  have  begun  life  from  the 
hour  in  which  I  first  saw  him.  You  see,  mother,"  she 
vided,  with  the  calm  of  desperation,  "  I  could  not  give 
lim  up.  It  would  be  like  tearing  my  very  heart  in 
twain.     I  could  not  do  it." 

"  But,  my  dear,  if  your  father  wills  that  it  shall  be  bo, 
you  must." 

"  Ah,  no  —  no.  I  did  not  make  the  love  to  live  in  my 
heart,  nor  can  I  drive  it  away.  I  cannot  kill  it.  I  want- 
ed to  tell  you,  mother,  but  I  was  afraid.  I  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  wait  until  you  knew  more  of  him.  It 
is  for  that  reason  he  has  been  here  so  often,  that  you 
might  learn  to  love  him.  You  cannot  help  it,  mothe* 
It  seems  to  me  that  every  creature  who  looks  upon  his 
face  must  love  him." 

"  My  dear  Lima,  if  it  were  so,  your  father  would  like 
him,"  said  the  kindly  woman. 

"Nothing  could  take  him  from  my  life,**  she  con- 
tinued, stretching  out  her  tender,  white  arms.  "  If  he  is 
many  hours  away,  the  light  goes  from  the  sun  —  I  count 
the  minutes ;  I  say  to  myself,  '  He  will  be  here  at  noon,* 
I  wait  until  noon  comes ;  but  if  the  noon  stretched  out 
into  weeks,  and  he  never  came,  I  should  die — I  should 
die  of  the  blank  cold  and  desolation.  When  night  falls 
T  pay  to  myself,  '  He  will  come  with  the  morning  light.* 
When  morning  has  been  and  gone,  I  long  for  the  setting 
f  the  sun  ;  I  know  he  will  come  then.  Why,  mother," 
she  continued,  raising  her  fair  face,  all  flushed  and  tear- 
stained,  "  what  should  I  do  with  my  life  if  he  went  out 
of  it  ?    What  could  I  do  but  die  ? " 

"  You  should  not  have  let  yourself  love  him  so  much, 
lima." 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?  The  love  came  to  me  unasked, 
unawares.  I  loved  him  before  I  knew  his  name,  or  any- 
thins:  much  about  him,  and  I  shall  love  him  until  I  die ! 
Hother,  you  understand  —  you  loved  my  father.    You 


THE   BELLE    OF    LYNN.  4:9 

< 

understand  —  my  heart  beats  when  I  hear  his  name ;  my 
hands  tremble,  and  my  face  burns  when  he  speaks  to 
me !  Oh,  mother !  "  she  continued,  with  a  passionate 
burst  of  tears,  "  do  you  not  see  that  my  heart  has  gone 
from  me,  and  clings  to  him  ?  You  must  not  let  him  be 
sent  from  me.  I  shall  droop  and  die.  Speak  for  me  and 
plead  for  me  !  " 

But  the  miller's  wife  knew  him  better  than  his  daugh 
ter  did.  She  knew  that  if  his  mind  was  once  made  up 
to  any  course  of  action  nothing  ever  moved  or  changed 
him,  nothing  altered  his  opinion  ;  he  was  firm  as  a  rock ; 
and  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  would  never  consent 
to  his  daughter's  marriage  with  the  Frenchman ;  dearly 
as  he  loved  her,  he  would  not  give  his  consent  to  save 
her  life. 

What  could  she  do  or  say  to  this  fair  young  daughter 
of  hers,  whose  whole  heart  had  gone  out  to  the  stranger  ? 
How  could  she  comfort  or  console  her? 

"  You  must  plead  for  me,"  the  girl  continued.  "  I 
am  young,  I  know,  and  you  may  think  that  in  time  I 
could  forget  him.  Ah,  no!  If  I  live  to  be  ever  so 
old  I  should  never  love  or  care  for  any  one  else !  He 
is  my  first  —  he  will  be  my  last  and  only  love!  Oh, 
mother,  make  my  father  understand  that  —  make  him 
see  it !  " 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Mrs.  Derwent.  "  Now  go 
to  rest,  my  dear.'* 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  comfort  me  ? "  she  cried. 
"  Have  you  no  word  ?  What  shall  I  do  when  the  dark 
to-morrow  dawns,  and  does  not  bring  him  to  me  ?  What 
'shall  I  do?" 

"  Have  patience,  my  dear ;  patience  conquers  all 
things." 

"Patience  will  not  give  me  back  my  love,  if  my  father 
will  not  let  him  come,  she  cried.  "  Oh,  mother,  I  have 
never  lain  awake  and  cried  all  night  before,  but  I  shall 
to-night ;  last  night  I  dreamed  that  I  was  with  him,  and 
we  were  rowing  on  Allan  Water ;  how  will  the  long  dark 
hours  pass?  And  to-morrow  he  will  not  come.  I  did 
not  know  that  my  father  could  be  so  craeU" 


50  THE  BSLIJE  OF  LTNK. 

"He  means  it  all  in  kindness,"  said  the  anxions 
mother. 

"  He  will  break  my  heart;  how  can  that  be  true  kind- 
ness to  me?  My  father  thinks  more  of  money  than 
money's  worth.  My  lover  is  a  gentleman  —  a  nobleman, 
but  because  he  has  no  money,  my  father,  does  not  like 
him.     Money  cannot  buy  happiness — or  love." 

"  It  is  not  altogether  a  question  of  money,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Derwent ;  "  you  know  how  much  your  father  lias 
always  disliked  foreigners,  above  all,  Frenchmen.  You 
know  how  he  has  lived  for  you,  Lima ;  he  would  have 

Jron  educated,  he  has  deprived  himself  of  everything  he 
iked  best,  in  order  that  you  might  have  a  fortune,  and 
his  very  heart  is  fixed  on  marrying  you  to  an  English 
gentleman.  Do  you  not  see  what  a  terrible  disappoint- 
ment it  would  be  to  him  ? " 

"  But  how  much  worse,  oh,  mother,  think  how  much 
worse  for  me.  My  father  would  soon  forget,  and  when 
he  saw  me  happy,  he  would  be  happy,  while  I — oh,  how 
can  he  be  so  cruel  to  me  ?  "  She  fell  on  her  knees  in  a 
passion  of  tears,  so  bitter,  so  unavailing,  that  the  mother's 
heart  ached. 

"  Do  be  patient  my  dear !  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  cried  the  girl,  "  you  may  as  well  take 
the  sunshine  from  the  flowers  and  bid  them  live." 

Long  after  the  busy  mill  had  ceased,  and  the  water  lay 
still ;  long  after  the  moon  had  risen  and  the  stars  were 
shining  bright,  the  miller's  wife  lay  wide  awake  listening 
to  that  faint  sobbing,  which  was  the  most  terrible  sound 
she  had  ever  heard.  Laughter  and  smiles,  bright  words, 
the  gleam  of  happiness,  had  always  been  associated  in 
her  mind  with  her  daughter ;  she  could  not  endure  this 
sound  of  bitter  wailing  and  tears. 

Once  the  miller  woke  when  the  sound  of  that  bitter 
weeping  and  bitter  sighs  seemed  to  pervade  the  quiet 
house ;  and  when  his  wife  told  him  the  sound  he  heard 
was  his  daughter  weeping,  he  grew  angry  and  denied  it. 
It  was  the  wind  wailing  over  the  water,  he  said.  And 
when  she  begged  him  not  to  be  hard  on  this  their  only 
child,  for  that  she  was  fragile  and  tender  of  heart,  he 
laughed  hoarsely  and  answered  that  he  knew  what  was 


THE  BELLE  OF   LYNN.  81 

best  for  her;  his  beautiful  Lima  should  never  be  given 
to  a  penniless  Frenchman ;  he  would  see  the  whole 
French  nation  sunk  under  the  Red  Sea  first ;  his  beauti- 
ful Lima  should  marry  an  English  gentleman ;  a  few 
tears  would  not  kill  her.  And  when  the  mother,  weep- 
ing, said : 

"  She  has  never  had  to  weep  before,"  he  answered, 
that  it  was  the  law  of  nature  that  women  should  weep. 

"  What  does  her  own  song  say  ?  "  he  quoted  ;  "  '  Men 
must  work  and  women  must  weep.'  If  she  weeps  now, 
wife,  she  will  shed  no  tears  afterward.  If  I  let  her  marry 
this  Frenchman,  her  tears  will  never  stop.  I  know  what 
is  best  for  her,  Helen.  She  will  be  all  right  in  a  few 
days,  and  then  you  will  be  glad  that  I  did  as  I  am  doing." 

All  the  same  he  did  not  like  to  hear  the  sound  of 
weeping  and  wailing,  and  the  next  morning  Lima  was 
ill.  There  was  a  dreadful  blank  at  the  usually  cheerful 
breakfast-table.  No  beautiful  face,  no  bright  eyes,  no 
sweet  voice;  the  sunlight  itself  was  not  more  missed 
than  she  was,  but  the  miller  would  not  yield  one  inch. 

"  Headache  ?  It  would  be  far  better  for  her  to  get  up 
and  go  out  into  the  fresh  air." 

But  when,  some  hours  afterwards,  he  met  her  as  she 
was  walking  down  to  Allan  Water,  he  saw  that  even  the 
fresh  morning  air  had  brought  no  color  to  her  pale  face, 
no  light  to  her  dim  eyes.  How  little  he  understood  the 
desolation  that  filled  her  heart.  There  was  Allan  Water 
laughing  in  the  sunlight,  but  where  was  he,  the  hand- 
some young  lover,  with  the  loving  eyes  and  sweet,  caress- 
ing words?  What  was  all  the  lovelines  on  earth  without 
him?  The  miller  went  to  her  and  kissed  her.  He 
found  her  hands  and  face  cold  as  death. 

"  Have  a  good,  brisk  walk,  my  darling,"  he  said :  "  it 
will  bring  the  roses  back  to  your  face." 

But  she  sighed  as  she  went  along  the  well-known  ways 
without  him.  Alas !  without  him  there  was  no  beauty 
even  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water. 


52  THE   BELLS  OF  LTinr. 


CHAPTER  X 


A  QUIET  shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  the  mill ; 
the  light  seemed  to  have  passed  from  life ;  there  was  no 
sonnd  of  music  or  laughter,  no  bright  voices,  no  songs ; 
all  seemed  quiet,  grave,  and  strange.  Lima  made  no 
complaint;  she  looked  tired,  pale,  and  languid,  but  after 
a  few  days  she  fell  into  the  usual  routine ;  she  helped 
her  mother,  wrote  her  father's  letters,  she  took  up  her 
books,  and  more  than  once  in  the  evening,  when  the 
miller  asked  her  for  music,  she  sung,  but  never  the  favor- 
ite ballad  of  Allan  Water.  The  spirit  and  life  seemed 
to  have  left  her ;  she  cared  no  more  for  the  rambles  in 
the  woods,  she  went  no  more  in  the  clover  meadows  and 

freen  lanes,  she  never  sought  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
t  seemed  to  her  that  if  she  went  out  and  met  him  sud- 
denly she  should  fall  down  dead.  In  vain  the  sunshine 
wooed  her,  in  vain  the  beautiful  water  rippled  and  gleam- 
ed, in  vain  did  rose  and  lily  bloom  and  birds  sing ;  she 
shut  herself  in  her  room  and  tried  hard  to  obey  her 
father  —  she  tried  to  forget  Leon.  She  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  stem  the  mountain  torrents  when  the  wind 
forces  them ;  the  more  she  tried  to  forget  him  the  more 
deeply  she  loved  him.  She  grew  more  and  more  miser- 
able, the  color  faded  from  her  beautiful  face,  and  her 
eyes  grew  dim.  Mrs.  Derwent  was  very  unhappy  over 
her ;  more  than  once  she  drew  the  miller's  attention  to 
his  daughter. 

"  The  girl  is  fading,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  John,  relent  or 
we  may  lose  her,  and  then !  " 

"  It  would  be  better  to  lose  her  by  death,"  said  John 
Derwent,  "  than  to  give  her  to  that  Frenchman ;  besides, 
she  will  not  die.     Do  you  remember  the  old  lines : 

*  Men  have  died,  and  worms  have  eaten  them, 
But  not  for  love.' 

She  will  not  die ;  many  a  girl  loses  the  color  and  light 


THE   BELLK   OF   LYNN. 


5S 


from  her  face,  but  they  come  back  again.  It  is  better 
for  her  to  suffer  a  little  now  than  more  later  on." 

But  the  time  came  when  he  himself  felt  anxious  about 
her.  She  had  only  been  three  weeks  parted  from  her 
lover,  and  she  was  already  but  the  shadow  of  her  former 
self. 

Never  was  struggle  more  desperate  in  the  heart  of  any 
girl.  She  loved  her  father — she  had  no  wish  to  disobey 
him  ;  she  was  grateful  to  him,  and  wished  to  please  him  ; 
she  oould  not  endure  to  pain  or  vex  him ;  she  could  not 
bear  even  to  see  the  brightness  of  his  face  dimmed.  On 
the  other  hand,  she  loved  her  young  lover  with  all  her 
heart;  she  had  given  to  him  the  love  of  her  life — her 
heart  had  gone  from  her  and  clung  to  him.  She  did  not 
care  to  live  unless  her  life  were  spent  with  him.  She 
knew  that  if  she  sent  one  line  to  him,  if  she  met  him,  if 
she  exchanged  one  word  with  him,  it  would  be  all  over 
with  her ;  while  she  remained  shut  away  from  him  she 
could  obey  her  father ;  once  with  him,  she  did  not  think 
it  possible.  So  the  struggle  in  her  mind  was  a  terrible 
one. 

It  was  the  old  story  of  duty  and  love.  There  were 
times  when  duty  seemed  to  win  the  day — when  she  tried 
her  best  to  forget  the  sweetness  of  her  love  story,  when 
she  prayed  Heaven  to  help  her  to  forget  her  lover,  when 
she  clung  to  her  father  with  fondest  affection,  and  the 
miller's  face  would  brighten,  and  he  would  congratulate 
himself  that  all  had  succeeded  as  he  prophesied.  Then 
the  reaction  would  come,  and  love  would  overpower 
duty  ;  there  would  be  days  of  bitter  tears  and  sighs, 
nii^hts  without  sleep,  hours  that  seemed  like  endless  days, 
aui  days  that  seemed  like  endless  weeks — when  she 
could  not  bear  the  light  of  the  sun,  the  song  of  the  birds, 
or  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers — when  she  could  not  bear 
that  her  eyes  should  rest  on  the  beautiful  stretch  of 
waters,  and  she  longed  for  nothing  but  the  rest  and  the 
silence  of  death. 

For  love  is  the  strongest  and  most  terrible  passion  that 
ever  takes  hold  of  the  human  heart  —  the  most  powerful, 
the  most  to  be  dreaded,  yet  the  most  to  be  desired  —  and 
love  had  taken  full  possession  of  the  girl's  heart. 


Et4  THB   BBLLB   OF    LYNN. 

Yet  she  fought  her  fight.  There  came  a  night  when 
the  August  moon  shone  brightly  on  Allan  Water,  and  she 
heard  so  plainly  the  dipping  of  the  oars  in  the  stream, 
and  she  knew,  as  though  she  had  seen  him,  that  her  lover 
was  under  the  window,  waiting  and  longing  to  see  her. 
She  had  but  to  draw  aside  the  hangings,  to  open  the 
window,  and  then  all  the  bliss  of  a  regained  I*aradise 
would  be  hers. 

She  knew  how  the  handsome  face  would  be  raised  to 
the  window ;  how  the  longing,  wistful  eyes  would  watch 
for  her  shadow ;  how  he  would  listen  to  the  faintest  sound 
that  gave  token  of  her  presence ;  how  great  the  temptation 
was — how  great  the  struggle.  At  one  moment  she  felt 
that  she  must  go ;  she  must  open  the  window  and  spring 
down  to  him,  and  he  could  row  her  over  the  water,  away 
where  the  water  lilies  slept,  away  in  fairy-land.  Nothing 
stood  between  her  and  that  glimpse  of  intense  happiness, 
seeing  and  speaking  to  her  lover,  but  her  sense  of  duty 
and  her  conscience. 

Conscience  forbade  her  to  draw  up  the  blinds  and  open 
the  window,  to  look  down  on  the  upraised  face  of  ner 
lover,  beautiful  as  a  dream  in  the  moonlight,  to  spend  a 
few  moments  with  the  young  lover  who  loved  her  so 
dearly.  Conscience  was  the  winner.  She  would  not  go 
because  her  father  had  forbidden  her  to  see  him  again. 
Conscience  was  the  winner ;  but  at  what  a  price  !  A 
night  of  bitter  regret  and  passionate  tears  —  a  day  of 
languor  and  misery. 

She  looked  out  on  the  broad  sheet  of  water  when 
morning  rose,  and  she  saw  that  her  lover  had  left  a  great 
heap  of  floating  water-lilies  under  her  window,  so  at  least 
she  might  know  he  had  been  there. 

The  passionate  regret  seized  her;  how  cruel  she  had 
been  not  to  go  near  him,  not  to  look  at  him,  not  to  speak 
to  him ;  a  passionate  cry  of  sorrow  broke  from  her.  It 
was  hard  for  any  one  to  live  in  such  a  struggle. 

She  made  one  last  and  desperate  appeal  to  her  father, 
but  he  would  not  listen. 

"  A  little  more  patience,"  he  said,  "  and  you  will  have 
forgotten  him.  You  will  see  the  truth  of  my  words  some 
day.     If  1  were  willing  —  if  I  gave  mj  consent  to  yoM 


THE   6ELLB  OF  LTHN.  56 

marriage  to-morrow,  you  would  repent  it  with  your  whole 
heart  in  a  few  months.  When  you  grow  older  and  know 
more,  you  will  know  that  no  English  father  would  care 
to  give  his  beloved  child  to  a  French  noble  —  if  he  be  a 
noble  —  which  I  doubt  very  much,  after  all.  You  will 
find  out  later  on  how  true  my  words  are." 

No  prayer  that  she  could  pray,  no  tears,  no  passion  or 
grief  or  pain  could  move  him,  no  words  soften  liim,  no 
persuasions  induce  him  to  change  his  opinions.  It  was 
banishment  from  her  lover  and  life  without  him.  She 
made  no  more  appeals,  she  saw  and  understood  that  her 
father  would  be  firm  at  any  cost. 

She  marvelled  much,  poor  child,  that  life  should  have 
taken  so  strange  a  turn  for  her ;  that  all  its  freshness, 
brightness,  and  hope  should  have  died  so  suddenly ;  why 
that  ouB  dream  of  beauty  and  sweetness,  almost  divine, 
should  Ihave  been  given  her  to  die  in  such  a  short  time. 

Hundreds  of  girls  before  her,  and  hundreds  since  have 
had  the  same  struggle  between  duty  and  love,  between 
father  and  lover ;  perhaps  none  have  felt  it  more  keenly 
or  suffered  so  much  from  it. 

By  this  time  Lima's  sad,  sweet  love  story  was  knovra  ; 
the  sympathy  of  the  young  was  with  the  girl  and  her 
lover,  the  sympathy  of  the  old  with  the  miller.  The 
story  was  discussed  in  many  of  the  humble  households 
arouuvi  Lynn,  and  there  was  much  wonder  how  it  would 
end — whether  the  miller  would  yield,  whether  the  young 
Frenahman  would  grow  tired  of  his  ardent  pursuit  and  go 
away,  or  whether  time  would  lessen  the  girl's  love  and 
another  lover  prevail. 

There  came  a  calm,  bright  Sunday  morning  when  the 
warm  languor  of  heat  seemed  to  lie  over  the  land, 
throbbed  in  the  blue  ether,  and  trembled  in  the  golden 
haze  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  and  even  by  the  mill, 
the  sound  of  the  chiming  of  the  church  bells  at  Lynn  was 
heard. 

The  miller  listened  attentively. 

"  That  is  a  sure  sign  of  settled  fair  weather,"  he  said, 
"  when  we  can  hear  the  bells  from  Lynn." 

He  would  have  obeyed  their  summons  and  have  gone 
to  church  but  that  some  of  the  machinery  of  the  mill  ha4 


56  THE  BELLE   OF  LYHH. 

gone  wrong,  and  he  was  afraid  to  jeave  it.  Mrs.  Derwent 
was  not  well,  and  when  the  Lynn  bells  rang  ont  their 
solemn  peal  there  was  no  one  at  the  mill  to  respond  to  it 
but  Lima. 

"  Go  to  church,  Lima,"  said  the  miller,  looking  at  the 
girl's  pale  face ;  "  the  walk  over  the  fields  will  do  you 
good." 

She  had  just  been  wondering  what  she  should  do  dur 
ing  the  whole  of  that  long,  golden  day  ;  how  she  should 
get  through  the  hours  that  would  not  be  brightened  by 
one  glimpse  of  her  lover — long  hours,  while  the  sun  would 
ride  nigh  in  the  heavens,  and  the  earth  droop  under  its 
burning  rays. 

"  I  will  go  to  church,  father,"  she  said  ;  and  then  one 
of  the  prettiest  sights  seen  that  summer  was  the  miller's 
lovely  daughter  as  she  tripped  through  the  green  mead- 
ows, prayer-book  in  hand.  The  light  footsteps  that  did 
not  crush  the  flowers  in  the  grass;  the  beautiful  face, 
almost  more  lovely  in  its  pallor  and  sadness  than  in  the 
flush  of  health  ;  the  slender,  girlish  figure  in  the  dress  of 
pure  white.     No  fairer  picture  could  be  seen. 

Perhaps  the  birds  of  the  air  hastened  to  tell  her  lover 
that  she  was  there ;  no  sooner  had  she  crossed  the  clover 
meadow  and  gone  into  the  green  lane  that  led  to  Lynn 
than  a  sudden  burst  of  glorious  sunshine  came  over  her, 
and  she  was  looking  once  more  into  the  face  she  loved  ao 
welL 


TBS  BELLE    OF   LYNN.  57 


CHAPTER  XI. 


She  had  no  time  to  think  whether  it  was  right  or  wrong, 
no  time  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  conscience  or  duty.  She 
remembered  in  that  moment  nothing  in  the  wide  world 
except  that  he  was  there,  his  handsome  face  smiling  into 
her  own,  his  eyes  so  frank  and  fearless  looking  into  hers. 
He  had  clasped  her  hands  in  his,  and  the  whole  earth  was 
brightened  and  gladdened  by  his  presence. 

"  My  darling,"  he  cried,  in  a  rapture  of  delight — never 
mind  that  it  was  Sunday,  when  every  one  is  expected  to 
behave  with  extra  decorum ;  never  mind  that,  although  it 
was  a  deep  shady  lane,  other  people  might  see  them — he 
drew  her  to  his  heart  and  kissed  her  in  a  passion  of  love 
and  pain ;  "  my  darling,  my  eyes  were  growing  blind 
from  want  of  seeing  you.  Kow  that  I  have  you  I  cannot 
let  you  go !  Speak  one  word  to  me  —  say  that  you  are 
pleased  to  see  me." 

There  was  no  need  for  words,  as  he  saw  when  she 
looked  at  him ;  and  then  he  was  struck  by  the  change  in 
her  ;  her  face  seemed  to  him  lovelier  than  ever ;  there 
was  a  pathos  in  its  beauty  which  was  perhaps  even  more 
attractive  than  its  brightness  had  been. 

"  Why,  Lima,"  he  cried,  "  how  ill  you  look ;  how  thin 
and  pale  you  are !  What  has  stolen  the  roses  from  your 
face  and  the  light  from  your  eyes  ? " 

He  kissed  the  pale  face  and  the  white  eyelids;  he 
seemed  beside  himself  in  this  great  joy  of  meeting  her, 
while  she  stood  pale  and  silent. 

"  I  am  so  glad  —  so  delighted  1 "  he  cried,  almost  inco- 
herently. "  I  thought  the  time  never  would  come.  I 
have  longed  to  see  you.  Providence  or  fate  —  which  is 
it,  Lima  ? —  is  kinder  than  your  father.  There  has  been 
some  little  pity  for  us.  Oh,  Lima,  do  not  leave  me 
again ! " 

The  soft  chiming  of  the  bells  at  Lynn  came  to  them 
with  the  sweet  song  of  the  birds,  and  the  sweet  odor  of 
the  flowers ;  a  soft,  sweet  chime  that  floated  over  the  treesi^. 


58  THE   BELLE    OF   LTNK. 

It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  a  sudden  buret  of  golden  sun- 
light had  fallen  over  her,  and  she  was  dazed  by  its 
brightness.  It  was  like  going  from  darkness  and  cold 
into  sunshine  and  warmth,  and  in  the  bewilderment  of 
her  happiness  she  forgot  all  about  the  wrong.  Slowly 
the  color  was  returning  to  her  beautiful  face,  slowly  the 
light  of  love  and  happiness  was  coming  back  to  her  eyes. 

With  a  sigh  of  unutterable  content  she  seemed  to 
recognize  the  fact  that  she  was  with  him  ;  with  a  low  cry 
tliat  was  half  love,  half  pain,  she  laid  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  hid  her  face  on  his  breast. 

"  Oh,  Leon,"  she  said,  gently,  "  I  should  like  to  die 
here.  I  would  rather  a  hundred  times  over  die  here  with 
your  arms  round  me,  than  go  back  to  the  life  which  is  so 
terrible  without  you.  I  have  not  complained ;  I  have 
said  nothing ;  but  my  heart  is  breaking." 

"  You  need  never  go  back  to  it,  Lima,"  he  said. 
"  Why  should  we  both  be  miserable  ?  I  have  been 
thinking  it  over,  and  it  seems  to  me  unreasonable  ;  why 
should  both  our  lives  be  spoiled  because  your  father  does 
not  like  Frenchmen  ?  It  is  absurd.  You  love  me,  and 
I  love  you ;  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife,  and  you  are  quite 
willing;  why  should  we  both  be  made  miserable  for 
life?'^ 

"  My  father  has  the  power  to  forbid  our  marriage," 
she  said. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  know  that  parents  have  cer- 
tain rights  over  their  children,  but  they  cannot  be  pushed 
too  far.  No  father  has  a  right  to  say  to  his  daughter 
that  she  shall  marry  this  one  and  shall  not  marry  another 

But  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Leon,  a  father  has  that  right,"  she  said. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  he  cried.  "  No  one  has,  or 
ought  to  have,  the  power  of  forbidding  those  who  love, 
to  marry." 

He  uttered  the  words  clearly  and  distinctly ;  in  the 
after-days  they  returned  as  so  many  stabs  from  a  sharp 
Bword,  and  wounded  him. 

"  This  is  my  belief,"  he  said,  "  that  while  children  are 
children  they  owe  implicit  obedience  to  their  parent^ 


THE  BELLE  OF   LTHH.  69 

hn^  ought  to  render  it  —  it  is  the  law  of  Heaven  and  of 
man  —  but  when  the  child  is  grown  into  man  or  woman, 
and  wishes  to  marry  the  object  beloved,  then  do  I  not 
acknowledge  the  right  of  parents  to  interfere." 

Lima  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  little  dreaming  how 
in  the  after  years  these  words  would  be  recalled  to  her. 
Then  she  said,  slowly : 

"  I  cannot  think  that,  Leon.  I  should  not  like  to  marry 
unless  ray  father  gave  his  consent.  I  do  not  think  I 
would  dare  marry  if  he  actually  forbade  me  to  do  so.  It 
seems  to  me  that  such  a  marriage  would  never  carry  with 
it  a  blessing." 

Sweetly,  softly,  over  the  trees  came  the  chiming  of  the 
bells  at  Lynn ;  the  birds  sung  sweetly  under  the  shelter 
of  green  boughs.     Suddenly  Lima  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Leon,  I  must  go,"  she  said.  "  My  father  sent  me  to 
church,  and  the  bells  will  soon  cease  ringing.  I  must  go." 

But  he  drew  her  nearer  to  him. 

"  Not  while  I  have  arms  to  hold  you,  sweetheart. 
That  would  be  flying  in  the  very  face  oi  fate.  Here  we 
are  in  the  midst  of  the  bright  sunshine,  brought  together 
after  dreary  weeks  of  absence  and  misery  —  brought  to- 
gether by  fate  and  most  happy  fortune  —  and  then  you 
want  to  go !  Ah,  no,  sweetheart  I  let  the  bells  chime  and 
the  birds  sing,  but  you  will  stay  here.  I  shall  make  a 
prison  of  my  arms,  and  keep  you  in  it." 

"  But,"  she  cried,  in  deep  distress,  "  it  would  not  be 
right,  Leon ;  my  mother  told  me  to  go  to  church,  and  I 
must  go.  It  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  spend  this  morn- 
ing here  with  you." 

"Just  a  little  wrong,  but  think  how  very  delightful. 
Be  fair,  Lima.  You  have  given  how  many  weeks  to 
your  father,  and  you  must  not  refuse  two  hours  to  me — 
two  hours  out  here  in  the, sunlight?  We  will  go  to  tho 
clover  meadow,  and  sit  under  the  shade  of  the  lime-trees, 
where  we  can  see  Allan  Water.  Oh,  my  sweetheart,  my 
love,  give  me  this  gleam  of  happiness ! " 

"  But,  Leon,"  she  said,  half  yielding  the  while,  "  the 
very  bells  seem  to  be  chiming  '  Come  to  church  —  come 
to  churcli ! '  " 

"And  the  birds  are  singing  '  Stay  Jiere  —  stay  here  J' 


60  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

Come,  Lima,  my  sweetheart.  Fate  has  been  kind  to  us 
this  morning ;  do  not  let  us  flj  in  her  face,  or  she  may 
never  be  so  kind  again." 

Still  she  drew  back,  and  did  not  touch  the  hand  he 
extended  to  her. 

"Leon,"  she  said,  gravely,  "if  I  do  this  —  if  I  stay 
away  from  church  and  spend  the  morning  out  in  the 
fields  with  you,  it  will  be  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
have  deliberately  and  wilfully  done  wrong." 

"  As  I  said,  darling,  it  will  be  just  a  little  wrong,  but 
most  delightful,"  he  replied.  "  We  will  not  stop  to  talk 
about  it ;  let  us  take  the  goods  that  fortune  has  offered 
us.  I  want  to  talk  to  you ;  I  want  to  persuade  you  to  do 
something  that  will  make  me  very  happy." 

The  woman  who  hesitates  is  lost.  Lima  hesitated. 
The  bells  chimed  "  Come ;  "  the  birds  sang  "  Stay ;  " 
duty  said  "  Go ;  "  love  said  "  No ;  "  but  Leon  settled  the 
matter  when  he  said : 

"  If  you  will  be  cruel  —  if  you  will  leave  me,  there  is 
but  one  alternative,  I  shall  go  with  you,  and  then  —  then 
you  will  see.  Come  with  me,  sweet;  let  us  enjoy  the 
hour  that  fortune  has  given  us." 

The  next  minute  she  had  turned  her  beautiful  face  to 
the  clover  meadows;  a  green  bank  ran  under  the  tall 
lime-trees,  a  bank  that  was  covered  with  wild  flowers  and 
meadow-sweet ;  the  broad,  beautiful  stretch  of  Allan 
Water  lay  before  them  ;  but  they  could  not  see  the  mill, 
it  was  hidden  from  them  by  the  great  green  trees.  He 
found  the  prettiest  nook  for  her,  and  she  sat  down 
amongst  the  tall  blossoms  of  the  meadow-sweet ;  he  flung 
himself  by  her  side,  while  the  sun  shone  on  and  the 
waters  rippled  slowly  by. 

"  Now  I  can  understand,"  he  said  to  her,  "  what  the 
Garden  of  Paradise  was  like.  Oh,  Lima,  you  must  not 
leave  me  again.  I  feel  like  one  who  has  been  dead,  and 
has  come  back  to  life.  No  one  has  the  power  to  part  us ; 
no  one  can,  for  love  has  the  strongest  chain,  and  the 
strongest  rights,  and  I  want  you,  my  beautiful  sweetheart, 
to  listen  to  me ;  why  need  we  be  miserable  any  longer ; 
why  skould  we  not  be  married  and  happy?     My  days 


THE  BELLK   OF  LTNH.  61 

are  one  longing  for  jou,  and  you  are  nd  less  miserable 
yourself.     Why  should  it  be  ?  " 

An  old  saying  is  that  "  a  little  chink  lets  in  great 
light ; "  it  is  equally  true  that  the  least  deviation  from 
the  strict  path  of  duty  entails  the  gravest  consequences. 
If  beautiful  Lima  Derwent  had  obeyed  the  voice  of  her 
conscience,  had  obeyed  the  voice  oi  the  bells  that  rang 
out  "  Come  to  church,"  in  all  probability  the  great 
tragedy  of  her  life  would  have  been  averted.  She  might 
in  time  have  forgotten  this  ardent,  passionate  love  of  her 
youth ;  but  she  was  deaf  to  those  two  voices,  and  heard 
only  that  of  her  lover,  which  said  "  Come." 

"  Lima,"  he  pleaded,  and  every  sweet  voice  in  nature 
pleaded  with  him  — "  Lima,  do  not  let  us  sacrifice  our 
youth — our  love — our  happiness !  We  have  but  one  life ; 
let  us  enjoy  it,  and  we  cannot  enjoy  it  apart.  Be  my 
wife  at  once  !  If  we  wait  until  your  father  consents,  we 
may  wait  until  our  hair  turns  gray.  Be  my  wife!  I 
would  not  persuade  you  to  do  anything  wrong,  sweet 
lima ;  but  why  should  we  spend  our  lives  in  misery 
when  we  might  be  so  happy  ?  Look  at  the  birds,  how 
happy  they  are  —  look  at  the  flowers,  how  happy  they 
are,  too !  In  this  world  so  full  of  brightness,  and  beauty, 
and  love,  why  should  we  two  sit  apart,  wretched  and 
forlorn,  parted  in  eternal  sorrow  and  in  eternal  tears? 
Why  should  we  ?  " 

And  she  listened  to  him,  her  beautiful  face  drooping 
shyly  from  him,  but  gradually  believing  all  he  said  to  be 
true. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said  at  last,  "  let  me  plead  to  you  in 
the  old  lines  we  both  love  so  well ;  they  might  have 
been  written  for  us  : 

"  '  My  father  he  has  locked  the  door, 
My  mother  keeps  the  key ; 
But  neither  bolts  or  locks  shall  keep 
My  own  true  love  from  me.' 

Oh !  my  true  love  and  dear  love,  listen  to  me,  and  to  me 
only ;  let  nothing  part  us  but  death,  and  may  Heaven 
keep  death  far  from  us.     Say  you  will  be  my  wife  ?  " 

There  was  a  word  whispered  over  the  meadow-fiweet, 
and  then  the  tragedy  of  a  life  began. 


THS  BELLS  OF  LTKN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

One  o'clock  at  the  mill,  and  no  Lima  appeared.  The 
dinner-table  was  set.  The  miller  went  restlessly  from 
room  to  room ;  his  wife  sat  at  the  window  watching  with 
anxious  eyes  the  fields  through  which  she  should  pass. 
The  bells  of  Lynn  had  long  ceased  chiming,  the  air  was 
warm  and  still,  the  flowers  bent  their  heads  as  though 
heavy  with  the  heat,  the  birds  were  silent  in  the  sultry 
languor  of  the  mid-day  snn.  No  Lima.  The  shadows 
were  lengthening,  and  the  mother's  watching  grew  more 
and  more  unhappy.  Where  was  she,  and  what  had 
happened?  Was  she  ill  and  unable  to  come  home? 
Should  she  go  in  search  of  her  ? 

Ah !  there,  where  the  sunbeams  fall  brightly,  was  the 
gleam  of  a  white  dress  between  the  trees ;  that  was  Lima, 
and  a  sensation  of  relief  came  to  the  mother's  heart  at 
the  sight  of  her.  She  hastened  to  the  garden  to  meet 
her,  to  ask  her  why  she  had  been  so  long  absent  —  where 
ehe  had  wandered.  But  when  she  gazed  into  her  daugh- 
ter's face  she  saw  that  all  was  changed ;  this  was  quite 
another  girl  than  the  one  who  had  left  home  a  few  houra 
ago.  This  girl  had  a  light  in  her  eyes  which  seemed  aa 
though  it  could  never  fade.  There  was  a  lovely  flush  onr 
her  face,  and  her  lips  were  like  crimson  flowers ;  she  was 
transfigured,  and  the  mother  thought  nothing  more  beau- 
tiful had  ever  been  seen  than  this  radiant  maiden  with 
the  love-lit  eyes. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  gently,  and  her  voice  had  in  it  a 
faint  ring  of  music  and  gladness  —  "  mother,"  she  repeat- 
ed, "  am  I  late  ? " 

"  Very  late,  my  darling,  and  we  have  been  very  anx- 
ious over  you.      Where  fmve  you  heen  f  " 

In  one  moment  all  flashed  before  her.  Where  had  she 
been  ?  Her  hands  were  still  warm  with  her  lover's  clasp, 
her  heart  was  still  beating  with  the  sound  of  her  lover'a 


THE   BELLE   OF  LYNN.  63 

words,  her  pulse  throbbing  with  the  delight  of  his  pres- 
ence ;  and  suddenly  she  remembered  all  —  that  this  wag 
the  lover  whom  she  had  been  forbidden  to  see.  Deeper 
and  deeper  grew  the  crimson  on  the  beautiful  face,  and 
then  the  miller  joined  the  little  group.  They  were  stand- 
ing outside  the  porch,  where  the  white,  starry  jasmine 
was  all  in  bloom  —  a  group  that  contained  in  itself  all  the 
elements  of  a  simple  tragedy.  The  father  stern  and  un- 
flinching, the  mother  tearful  and  suppliant,  the  daughter 
blushing,  half  trembling  with  fear,  yet  strong  in  her 
determination  to  be  true  to  her  lover  and  to  her  love. 

"  You  are  late,  Lima,"  said  her  father. 

Do  what  she  could,  she  could  not  throw  off  those  signs 
of  delight  that  she  had  seen  him,  spoken  to  him,  that  he 
had  caressed  her  and  worshipped  her,  and  asked  her  over 
and  over  again  to  be  his  wife.  It  was  all  told,  all  written 
in  the  face  that  only  a  few  hours  since  was  pale  with 
misery  and  shadowed  with  grief. 

Father  and  daughter  stood  face  to  face  —  the  father 
who  had  loved  his  child  so  well,  and  the  child  who,  until 
BOW,  had  known  no  wish  but  his. 

The  father,  stern  and  unyielding ;  the  daughter,  ready 
to  encounter  anything  now  for  her  lover's  sake. 

"  Tes,"  said  the  miller,  looking  iixedly  at  her.  "  Yes, 
you  are  late,  and  you  have  not  been  to  church.  Mrs. 
Grey  went  home  an  hour  ago ;  she  had  been  there,  but 
she  told  me  she  had  not  seen  you.  Where  have  you 
been  f  "  His  eyes,  bright  with  anger,  were  fixed  on  her 
face,  and  seemed  to  read  her  very  soul.  "  Where  have 
vou  been?  You  left  home  pale,  sorrowful,  your  head 
bent;  I  watched  you  walking  through  the  fields;  you 
come  back  bright,  erect,  radiant,  your  own  old  self.  W  hat 
has  changed  you?     Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

She  must  either  tell  the  truth  or  a  direct  lie,  and  she, 
sweet,  simple,  loving  soul,  had  never  told  a  wilful  lie  in 
her  whole  life ;  she  shrunk  from  it  now,  she  could  not  do 
it.  It  might  have  saved  her ;  but  she  would  not  be  saved 
at  the  price  ;  she  could  not  stoop  to  a  lie. 

Yet  a  spasm  of  fear  came  over  her  when  she  saw  the 
miller's  angry  eyes ;  never  had  they  looked  at  her  with 
that  expression  before. 


64  THE  BELLE   OF  LTNW. 

"  "Where  have  you  been  ? "  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder ;  then  her  natural  courage  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  father,"  she  answered.  "  I  do  not 
want  to  tell  you ;  you  will  only  be  angry  and  vexed." 

"  I  will  know,"  he  cried.  "  Tell  me  at  once.  Where 
have  you  been,  and  with  whom  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  on  the  banks  of  the  water,"  she  answer- 
ed, slowly. 

"  With  whom  ?  "  he  cried,  and  his  voice  rang  out  full 
of  anger  and  wrath. 

"  With  Leon,  father,"  she  replied,  and  then  a  blank 
terrible  silence  fell  over  them.  It  seemed  to  the  kindly 
mother  that  life  itself  must  fall  now  that  these  two  so 
dearly  beloved  were  at  variance. 

"  And  you  dare  to  tell  me  that !  "  cried  the  miller. 
"  I  forbade  you  to  see  him  again — I  forbade  you  to  speak 
to  him.  I  said  that  he  was  never  to  cross  this  threshold 
again,  and  yet  you  have  spent  more  than  two  hours  with 
him  when  you  ought  to  have  been  at  church.  What  have 
you  to  say  for  yourself  ?  " 

"  That  I  could  not  help  myself,  father — that  I  did  not 
go  out  to  meet  him ;  it  was  quite  by  accident.  And  you 
—  you  could  not  be  cross  with  me  if  you  knew.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  the  veiy  gates  of  Heaven  opened  to 
me  when  I  saw  his  face.  He  asked  me  to  go  down  to 
Allan  Water  with  him.  I  forgot  everything  in  the  wide 
world  except  the  delight  of  being  with  him,  and  I  went." 

"  She  loves  him  so  dearly,  John,"  murmured  the  anx- 
ious mother ;  but  the  miller  turned  quickly  to  her. 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me,"  he  said,  angrily.  "  I  have  a 
right  to  e-spect  and  extort  obedience  from  my  own  child." 

"  I  give  it  to  you,  father,"  she  cried,  "  lovingly,  will- 
ingly, in  every  instance  except  this.  Do  not  stand 
between  me  and  the  sunshine  of  my  life.  Oh,  father, 
father!"  she  cried,  breaking  into  passionate  tears  and 
sobs,  "  kill  me  rather  than  take  me  from  him." 

"  You  have  but  to  choose  between  him  and  me,"  said 
the  miller.  "  Give  up  your  lover  or  give  up  your  father. 
There  is  no  alternative." 

"  I  cannot !  "  she  cried,  "  for  I  love  both.  Oh^  mother, 
speak  for  me — speak ! " 


%.  THB  BELLE   OP   LYNN.  '  65 

"  Do  not  interfere,"  said  the  miller,  turning  to  his 
vife.  "  Let  me  manage  this  thing  in  my  own  fashion. 
(  repeat  that  she  shall  not  marry  this  beggarly  French- 
man ! "  He  turned  almost  fiercely  to  his  daughter. 
"  You  disobeyed  me,  and  you  defy  me.  You  shall  not 
leave  the  house  again  until  you  are  to  be  trusted !  1  for- 
bid you  to  go  to  the  meadows,  or  the  woods,  or  the  bankt 
of  Allan  Water!  You  shall  not  leave  the  house  again 
unless  I  give  you  permission !  I  thought  I  could  have 
trusted  you ! " 

The  sound  of  her  bitter,  passionate  sobbing,  as  she 
passed  through  the  porch  and  went  to  her  room,  struck 
nim  with  dismay. 

There  was  no  dinner  on  that  day  at  the  mill,  no  beau- 
tiful brooding  Sabbath  calm;  no  rest,  no  peace.  Th« 
miller  himself  was  too  angry  to  remain  in  the  house;  he 
wandered  to  and  fro  in  the  meadows  and  the  corn-fields ; 
he  cursed  in  his  heart  the  young  Frenchman  who  had 
brought  this  dark  shadow  over  his  once  happy  home. 

How  the  next  few  days  passed  none  could  tell.  Father 
and  mother  tried  to  distract  their  thoughts  by  hard  work, 
while  Lima  wept  herself  ill  with  love,  regret  and  pain. 

She  realized  it  now ;  there  was  no  comparison  between 
iove  of  him  and  love  of  others,  even  the  parents  who  had 
been  so  kind  to  her  ;  she  knew  at  last  that  she  was  ready 
3nd  willing  to  give  up  all  the  world  for  him. 

A  week  passed  and  she  had  never  offered  to  go  out-of- 
idoors,  nor  had  her  father  relented  in  his  severity,  and 
iigain  there  came  a  moonlight  night  when  she  heard  the 
sound  of  oars  beneath  her  window,  and  she  knew  her 
lover  was  there.  There  was  no  struggle  this  time  with 
eonscience  or  duty — love  was  lord  of  all ;  she  went  to  the 
window  and  opened  it.  She  saw  plainly,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  her  lover's  boat  underneath  the  window,  and 
his  face  upraised  to  her.  She  told  him  all  that  had 
happened,  and  he  was  hotly  indignant. 

"  It  is  persecution,  tyrrany,  injustice ! "  he  cried. 
"  You  belong  to  me,  Lima,  and  not  to  any  one  else  in  the 
world.  No  one  shall  part  us  !  As  your  father  will  not 
give  his  consent  to  our  marriage,  we  will  marry  without 
it." 


66  THE   BELLE   OF    LTKW. 

He  prayed  and  he  pleaded  until  bIic  consented.  It 
oonld  not  be  just  at  present,  for  lie  must  give  notice  at 
the  church  and  at  the  registrar's  office. 

Not  the  church  at  Lynn,  but  at  Haslingdene,  some  few 
milet  distant,  where  neither  his  name  or  hers  would 
excite  much  interest;  and  if  they  did  so,  if  the  worst 
happened,  and  the  miller  heard  of  it,  they  could  find 
some  other  plan.  The  only  thing  was  if  she  would 
consent. 

She  did  not  refuse ;  she  told  him  quite  frankly  that  if 
ihe  must  make  a  choice  between  her  father  and  himself, 
that  it  must  be  him;  and  the  words  spoken  under  the 
solemn  light  of  moon  and  stars  were  to  her  sacred  as  aa 
oath. 

He  could  not  tell  when  he  should  come  for  her;  a 
certain  number  of  days  must  pass  in  order  that  all  legal 
formalities  might  be  complied  with. 

"  1  shall  come  some  morning,  love,"  he  said  to  her.  "  I 
shall  come  to  your  window  here,  as  I  have  done  to-night. 
It  will  be  quite  early  in  the  morning,  and  a  glow  of 
golden  light  from  the  rising  sun  will  lie  on  Allan  Water. 
I  shall  throw  up  to  the  window  here  a  great  bunch  of  red 
roses,  and  when  you  see  that  signal  you  will  know  the 
hour  has  come.  Then  you  will  hasten  out  to  me,  and  I 
will  row  you  across  the  Allan  "Water.  It  will  be  so  early 
that  the  birds  will  hardly  have  begun  to  sing  —  so  earlv 
that  the  flowers  will  be  still  asleep.  And  then  we  will 
go  to  Haslingdene  Church.  When  you  leave  that  church 
you  will  be  my  wife,  and  nothing  but  death  can  part  maJ* 

Oh,  swoet,  yaiii,  empty  woriU. 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  67 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

There  came  a  morning  at  the  end  of  August,  when 
quite  in  the  early  dawn  Lima  heard  the  soft  splashing  of 
the  oars  beneath  her  window  —  and  she  knew  the  hour 
lad  come — that  this  was  her  wedding-day,  and  that  never 
again  between  herself  and  her  lover  would  the  shadow  of 
parting  fall.  That  day  would  give  them  to  each  other 
while  they  lived,  and  in  the  depths  of  her  loving  heart 
she  blessed  it. 

She  heard  what  seemed  to  her  the  music  of  the  oars  — 
then  came  the  soft  thud  of  the  great  bunch  of  roses  at 
the  window — her  heart  beat,  and  her  face  flushed — it  was 
he!" 

When  she  drew  aside  the  hangings  the  picture  that 
met  her  eyes  was  a  most  beautiful  one  —  the  sun  was  ris- 
ing in  all  its  pomp  of  rose,  purple  and  gold,  and  a  great 
glow  of  golden  light  lay  over  the  broad,  beautiful  stretch 
of  Allan  Water;  there  was  the  boat  just  under  her 
window,  and  there  was  her  lover,  his  handsome  face  all 
bright  with  love  raised  to  her.  He  stretched  out  his  arm 
to  her. 

"  Make  haste,  my  love,"  he  cried  ;  "  each  moment  that 
I  wait  for  you  here  seems  an  hour." 

She  had  written  no  letters,  as  most  girls  do  who  run 
away  from  home,  she  had  left  no  farewell  messages  —  it 
was  all  useless,  she  said  to  herself.  Yet  she  did  not  leave 
her  old  home  without  passionate  regret ;  but  the  love  of 
youth  is  strong,  and  the  passion  of  youth  knows  little 
control.  She  stopped  for  some  few  minutes  outside  the 
door  of  her  mother's  roon  —  longing  with  the  whole 
force  of  her  heart  to  cry  out  that  she  was  going — would 
they  bless  her  and  forgive  her?  She  was  going  with  her 
young  lover,  who  was  waiting  for  her  on  Allan  Water, 
with  whom  she  was  about  to  begin  a  new,  beautiful  life, 
but  which  would  lose  half  its  beauty  without  them.  The 
words  rose  in  a  burning  torrent  from  her  heart  to  her 
lips,  but  she  stifled  them  there. 


0g  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNH. 

It  would  be  of  no  use,  If  her  father  knew  he  would 
lock  her  in  her  rooms,  and  her  lover  must  go  away  weary 
at  heart  again.  She  kissed  the  door  of  the  room  where 
those  who  loved  her  so  well  slept.  Her  feet  lingered 
over  the  threshold  of  the  dear  old  home.  She  saw  her- 
self a  little  fair-haired  child,  the  very  pride  of  the  miller's 
heart ;  she  could  see  herself  growing  a  maiden,  fair  and 
tall,  like  the  white  lilies  in  the  garden,  even  more  beloved 
and  more  passionately  worshipped  than  when  she  was  a 
child,  and  now  she  was  flying  from  them.  Was  what  her 
father  said  true  —  that  the  young  Frenchman's  love  had 
brought  a  curse  upon  their  home?  Could  love  ever 
bring  a  curse  ? 

As  she  passed  forever  from  the  threshold  —  the  safe 
shelter,  the  sure  refuge  of  home  —  she  tlianked  them  in 
her  heart  for  all  that  they  had  done  for  her,  for  the  love, 
tke  patience,  the  self-denial. 

"  They  will  forgive  me,"  she  said,  "  when  we  are 
married,  and  Leon  and  I  come  home  together — they  will 
forgive  us ;  they  cannot  refuse." 

She  opened  the  door  that  led  from  the  porch  to  the 
garden,  and  such  a  rush  of  sunlight  came  in,  such  a  burst 
of  fragrance,  it  seemed  to  greet  her  like  a  blessing  and  an 
omen  of  good. 

Leon  rowed  up  to  the  green  bank,  and  the  next  minute 
she  was  with  him  in  the  boat  on  Allan  Water. 

"  Forever  and  forever  1 "  he  said  solemnly,  to  her. 
"  We  shall  part  no  more  after  to-day." 

"Oh,  Leon,  I  am  so  frightened,"  she  cried,  and  her 
beautiful  face  grew  pale  in  the  rosy  light.  "  I  am  sorely 
afraid." 

"  Courage,  my  darling,  my  beautiful  sweetheart,  cour- 
age. *  It  is  only  the  first  step  that  costs.'  How  good  of 
you  to  come,  and  was  ever  wedding-day  heralded  by  such 
a  rosy  dawn  ?  " 

But  she  shuddered  violently. 

"  Oh,  Leon,"  she  said,  "  the  wind  is  cold,  and  the 
water  is  cold.     I  am  afraid." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  fear,"  he  said.  "  See,  I  will  row 
you  over  Allan  Water  as  softly  as  a  swan  floats." 

^It  is  not  the  water  I^ear.    Oh,  Leon,  Leon,  I  am 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  69 

doing  wrong.  I  should  not  be  here :  I  should  not  have 
left  home." 

"  It  is  too  late,  my  darling,"  he  cried,  with  a  victorious 
smile.  "  It  is  too  late,  my  darling,  to  row  you  back  again. 
Be  happy,  Lima,  this  fe  our  wedding-day.  Do  not  trem- 
ble, do  not  weep :  the  life  that  lies  before  you  is  as  bright 
as  the  sky  or  the  broad  waters.  Why  should  you  fear  ? 
I  am  by  your  side,  your  lover,  soon  to  be  your  husband. 
Hark !  the  birds  are  beginning  to  sing.  Ours  is  a  golden 
wedding-day,  Lima." 

He  kissed  the  beautiful  face  and  quivering  lips.  He 
talked  to  her  until  the  color  came  back  to  her  face  and 
the  smiles  to  her  lips. 

"  It  was  natural,  Leon,  that  I  should  feel  leaving  them, 
they  have  been  so  kind  to  me.  They  love  me.  They 
have  never  refused  me  anything  until  now.' 

•'  I  will  be  kind  to  you,  I  will  love  you,  I  will  never 
refuse  you  anything,"  he  said,  half  jealously. 

They  were  half-way  across  the  water  now,  and  Leon 
ceased  rowing. 

"  Look  round,  Lima,"  he  said.  "  "Was  ever  anything 
so  fair?" 

The  golden  shafts  of  light  were  falling  everywhere; 
the  leaves  stirred  in  the  fresh  morning  breeze ;  there  was 
a  slight  ripple  on  the  surface  of  Allan  Water ;  and  the 
water-lilies  seemed  all  at  once  to  grow  wide  awake.  She 
forgot  her  trouble  in  the  fairy-like  beauty  of  the  scene 
around  her.  When  they  reached  the  green  shore  opposite 
to  the  mill,  she  could  see  the  red  roof  and  the  blue 
pigeons  flying. 

"  Good-bye  to  my  dear  old  home,"  she  said  —  "  good- 

"  You  will  have  another  home  you  will  love  better," 
said  her  lover,  still  half  jealous  of  the  love  she  was 
leaving  behind  her.  "  Now  Lima,  take  your  last  look  at 
it ;  when  we  turn  down  the  high-road  you  will  see  it  no 
more." 

She  stood  looking  at  it  for  some  time,  then  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  sudden,  graceful  gesture. 

"  Leon  in  the  sight  of  my  old  home,  which  is  a  sanctu- 


70  THE  BELLE  OF   LYITN. 

ary  to  me,  promise  me  that  you  will  always  be  true  and 
faithful  to  me." 

"  I  do  promise.  I  could  never  be  anytbing  else,"  be 
said. 

"  Promise  that  you  will  always  love  me  as  you  do  now, 
better  than  any  one  else.  Promise  that  your  truth,  your 
patience,  your  love  and  kindness  shall  never  fail." 

"  I  promise,"   he  said ;   and  then,  with  a  long-drawn, 

bitter  sigh,  she  turned  away,  and  saw  the  old  home  no 

more. 

****** 

The  miller  was  down  early  that  moroing,  it  was  so  fine 
and  fair,  and  there  was  so  much  work  to  be  done.  He 
said  that  be  would  go  out  at  once,  and  return  to  breakfast 
in  two  or  three  hours. 

As  he  passed  by  Allan  Water,  he  saw  that  the  boat  had 
gone  from  the  place  where  it  was  usually  moored.  He 
looked  to  see  where  it  was,  and  saw  that  it  was  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  stream.  He  wondered  who  had  taken 
it  there,  but  no  suspicion,  however  faint,  of  the  truth 
occurred  to  him. 

His  wife  had  spoken  a  few  words  to  him  about  Lima 
before  he  left  the  house.  The  miller  fancied  that  he  saw 
some  slight  improvement  in  her  health  and  spirits.  His 
wife  thought  just  the  contrary. 

"  I  have  had  a  strange  feeling  over  her  during  the  last 
few  days,"  said  Mrs.  Derwent  to  her  husband.  "  How  I 
wish  that  either  the  young  Frenchman  had  never  come 
to  this  house,  or  that  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to 
like  him. 

John  Derwent  turned  round  and  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  cried,  "  that  you  like 
kim?" 

"  I  think  I  tx)uld  like  any  one  whom  Lima  loved." 

"  You  would  not  like  him  long,"  said  the  miller.  "  Do 
not  say  that  before  her,  or  slie  will  think  you  are  on  her 
side,  and  that  will  do  her  more  hai-m  than  good ;  it  will 
make  her  jndependwit  of  me. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  to  licr  that  you  would  not  approve 
of,  John ;  you  may  be  quite  Min^  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Der 
went,  but  all  the  same  lujr  heart  v.us  full  of  loving,  kindly 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  Tl 

sympathy  with  her  daughter.  She  would  have  done  any- 
thing to  have  restored  peace  and  harmony  to  those  two 
whom  she  loved  so  well.  The  miller  went  to  his  work, 
and  though  he  would  not  have  owned  it,  his  heart  was  hot 
and  heavy  within  him  when  he  thought  of  his  beloved 
daughter. 

The  mother,  too,  went  about  her  daily  duties  sadly  and 
slowly,  her  heart  yearning  over  the  girl  she  knew  to  be  in 
sore  distress.  She  thought  to  herself  that  she  would  make 
her  some  nice  tea :  to  women  of  Mrs.  Derwent's  stamp, 
a  cup  of  tea  is  a  salve  for  any  evil  that  can  befall  human 
nature.  She  busied  herself  over  it ;  she  brought  rich, 
Bweet  cream  from  the  dairy  —  she  prepared  a  little  tray 
dainty  enough  for  a  queen. 

She  took  it  up  stairs,  thinking  how  the  beautiful  face 
would  smile  and  brighten,  but  when  she  cried  out  "  Lima, 
good-morning  ;  I  have  brought  you  some  tea,"  there  was 
no  answer. 

She  went  into  the  room,  and  there  was  no  lima.  At 
first  she  did  not  feel  uneasy,  did  not  suspect  anything, 
but  fancied  her  daughter  had  gone  down  without  her 
knowing  it.  She  carried  the  dainty  little  tray  down-stairs 
again. 

Then,  with  growing  fear  and  growing  sorrow,  she 
began  to  search  for  her,  but  there  was  no  Lima;  neither 
in  the  house,  the  gardens,  the  orchard,  the  clover  mead- 
ows, nor  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water  was  there  any 
Lima!  And  when  the  miller  returned,  two  hours  after- 
ward, his  wife  met  him  at  the  threshold  with  a  white, 
scared  face. 

"  John,  she  said,  "  Lima  is  gone !  " 

"  Gone,"  he  repeated.     "  Gone  where  ? " 

He  evidently  did  not  understand. 

"  I  cannot  find  her,"  said  the  trembling  womaa. 
*  Her  room  is  empty,  and  she  is  nowhere  to  be  found." 

The  miller's  ruddy,  cOmely  face  grew  ghastly  white. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  she  has  run  away?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  cried  the  unhappy  mother.  "  Only 
Heaven  knows.  I  cannot  find  her.  Oh,  John,  I  am 
afraid  you  have  been  to  hard  on  her,  and  that  she  has 
gone  away." 


72  THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN. 

"  If  she  has  gone  alone,"  said  John  Derwent,  "  I  will 
find  her,  forgive  her,  and  bring  her  back  again,  but  if  she 
has  gone  with  him  may  the  curse  of  the  disobedient  follow 
her  and  cling  to  her,  her  whole  life  long." 

He  did  not  heed  the  cry  of  distress  that  came  from  his 
wife,  but  went  out  of  the  house  in  search  of  her. 


CHAPTEK  XIY. 

It  was  long  past  noon  when  the  miller  returned,  and 
then  he  was  a  changed  man ;  he  looked  twenty  years 
older ;  his  face  was  haggard  and  worn  ;  great  lines  were 
drawn  round  the  lips  and  across  the  brow  that  had  not 
been  there  yesterday ;  the  ruddy,  comely  face  was  livid 
with  passion  and  pain. 

He  walked  into  the  kitchen,  where  his  wife  was  busy  ; 
she  looked  up  in  alarm  when  she  saw  his  face. 

"  Wife,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  go  and  bring  me  the  Bible." 

Wondering,  afraid  to  ask  any  questions,  afraid  to  linger, 
she  hastened  to  obey  him,  and  bringing  the  Bible,  she 
placed  it  on  the  table  before  him.  ELe  turned  over  page 
after  page  of  the  written  register ;  she  heard  him  mur- 
muring the  names  of  the  dead ;  she  heard  him  murmur 
his  own  name  —  John  Derwent,  married  to  Helen  Grey. 
Then  he  was  silent  for  some  few  minutes.  His  face 
gave  evidence  of  the  terrible  struggle  in  his  soul. 

"  Listen,"  he  said.  "  Lima  Derwent,  daughter  of  the 
above,  born  May  18th.     You  hear  that,  my  wife  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Give  me  pen  and  ink,"  he  said. 

She  gave  it  to  him.     He  wrote  a  few  words  rapidly. 

"  Listen  again,"  he  said.  "  Lima  Derwent,  born  May 
18th,  died  August  22d.     You  hear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Heaven  I "  cried  the  unhappy  mother,  "  she  is 
not  dead,  my  beautiful  lima,  surely  she  is  not  dead  ! " 

"  She  is  more  than  dead  to  me,"  said  the  miller.  "  If 
I  had  seen  her  eyes  shut,  and  folded  her  hands  in  death, 
it  would  have  been  better  for  her  —  better  for  me.    She 


THE   BBLLE   OF   LTNN.  73 

is  more  than  dead.  She  has  left  us  to  marry  the  man 
whom  I  forbade  her  to  see  again." 

"  Married  !  "  cried  the  mother,  with  some  feeling  of 
relief,  "  Lima  married  ? " 

"  Yes,  married  ;  and  dead  to  us  for  all  time.  She  had 
to  choose  between  us,  and  she  has  chosen.  She  has  given 
us  up  —  for  him.  We  have  loved  her,  cherished  her, 
worked  for  her,  and  she  has  gone  from  us,  with  a  smile 
on  her  face,  without  one  word  of  farewell — think  of  tliat ! 

—  after  all  these  years;  gone,  without  a  touch  of  her 
father's  hand  or  a  kiss  on  her  mother's  face  !  You  need 
not  cry  so  bitterly,  wife ;  it  has  not  hurt  her.  Do  not  let 
it  hurt  you." 

"  My  only  child  !  "  cried  the  unhappy  mother.  "  My 
dear  and  only  child  !     Oh,  John,  I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  You  will  have  to  bear  it,"  he  said,  grimly.  "  She  has 
left  you  no  choice.  She  went  away  this  morning,  wife, 
while  you  and  I  slept  —  dreaming  of  her.  John  Dalton 
met  her  with  her  lover  on  the  high-road  to  Haslingdene, 
and  Mrs,  Roberts,  the  postmistress  at  Haslingdene,  saw 
them  married.  There  is  no  error  —  no  mistake ;  that 
is  the  child  we  have  loved,  reared,  and  cherished.  A  stran- 
ger came  with  a  handsome  face  and  a  winning  tongue — 
all  the  love  and  care  of  years  are  forgotten — he  raises  his 
hand,  and  she  leaves  us  to  go  with  him.  You  need  not 
weep  for  her,  if  she  can  forget  you  so  soon." 

"  Oh,  John,  you  are  so  hard  upon  her ! "  cried  the 
weeping  mother. 

"  Hard  upon  her  !  "  he  said  with  grim  irony.  "  You 
call  me  hard.  I  would  have  given  her  the  last  drop  of 
blood  in  my  heart,  I  would,  indeed  ;  but  she  will  be  child 
of  mine  no  more !  " 

"  You  will  forgive  her — you  must  forgive  her,  John  !  " 
cried  his  wife. 

"  /  forgive  her ! "  said  the  miller,  his  face  working 
with  emotion.  "  / —  no,  never !  While  sun  and  moon 
shine,  I  shut  my  heart  against  her,  forever  and  forever 

—  it  will  hold  her  no  more!  And  you,  listen — for  I 
shall  never  change — you  must  cast  her  out  of  your  heart 
as  I  do  out  of  mine.  I  forbid  you  to  see  her  or  speak  to 
b»r.    1  forbid  ^ou  to  go  near  iier.    If  jou  meet  her,  tuxu 


74  THB  BELLB  OF  LTNN. 

away  yonr  head.  If  she  cries  put  to  you,  be  deaf  and  do 
not  listen  to  her  voice. 

"  My  only  child  !  "  wailed  the  unhappy  mother ;  "  how 
can  I  do  it?" 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  how  you  can  do  it,"  said  the 
miller;  it  must  be  done.  We  have  been  husband  and 
wife  for  more  than  twenty  years ;  never  an  angry  word 
has  passed  between  us;  we  have  never  had  a  hard  thought 
of  each  other ;  we  have  never  quarrelled,  and,  my  dear, 
we  have  been  true  to  each  other.  On  your  love  and  your 
truth,  I  charge  you  to  obey  me." 

"  My  only  child !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  John,  do  not  be 
eo  hard  upon  me." 

His  face  darkened. 

"  I  have  never  said  a  rough  word  to  you  in  my  life," 
he  said  ;  "  but  do  not  trifle  with  me ;  do  not  try  me  too 
far.  I  will  be  obeyed.  I  told  my  daughter  to  choose 
between  me  and  a  man  I  hated  —  she  chose  him  ;  I  will 
tell  you,  my  wife,  to  choose  between  the  child  who  has 
been  false  to  us  both — and  me." 

She  clung  to  him,  weeping. 

"  You,  John,"  she  said,  "you  against  all  the  world, 
though  it  wiU  break  my  heart." 

"  You  promise  to  obey  me  implicitly,"  he  said.  "  Yon 
will  not  see  her,  or  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  Not  against  your  will,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  pray 
Heaven  to  soften  your  heart  to  your  only  child." 

"  My  only  child  forsook  me  for  a  stanger,"  he  cried, 
and  there  was  exceeding  bitterness  in  his  voice.  "  We 
are  childless  now,  wife,  childless  —  you  and  I." 

And  the  strong  man  broke  down,  sobbing  like  a  child. 

Then  he  told  his  wife  all  that  he  had  heard  ;  busy 
neighbors  kad  been  to  tell  him  ;  no  detail  had  been  spared 
to  him.  They  could  tell  him,  now  that  it  was  too  Jate, 
how,  for  many  long  weeks,  the  attention  and  interest  of 
all  the  neighborhood  had  been  aroused  and  centered  in 
this  love  affair. 

One  had  seen  the  lovers  together  quite  early  in  the 
morning  on  Allan  Water;  another  had  seen  them  ]n 
church;  another  had  witnessed  the  marriage;  a  fourth 


TBI  BELLE  OF  LTNN.  t5 

iiad  seen  them  at  Haslingdene  Kailway  Station ;  a  fifth 
had  always  been  sure  that  they  would  be  married ;  a  sixth 
had  heard  what  the  young  Frenchman  had  said.  There 
was  a  chorus  of  sympathy  and  interest,  but  tlie  general 
feeling  was  for  the  lovers  and  against  the  parents. 

Never  was  a  day  more  miserable  than  that  at  Allan 
Mill.  The  miller  could  not  work;  the  mill  stood  still. 
His  wife  could  do  nothing  but  weep.  It  was  worse 
than  loss  by  death,  for  there  was  no  comfort  in  the 
desolation.  A  long  weary  day  and  a  long  weary  night, 
when  the  mother  could  not  rest  in  her  room,  hrut 
wandered  about  weeping  and  wailing,  calling  on  the 
daughter  she  loved,  and  who  had  forsaken  her  —  collect- 
ing with  loving  hands  all  that  belonged  to  her,  kissing 
the  things  that  her  hands  had  touched  last  —  her  simple, 
tender  heart  breaking  with  grief  that  she  had  lost  her. 

Then  came  morning  light —  the  night  had  seemed 
endless.  Where  was  she,  the  beautiful  and  beloved,  who 
had  slept  last  night  under  the  safe  shelter  of  the  old  home 
— where  was  she  now  ? 

Morning  brought  a  letter,  addressed  to  the  miller,  in 
Lima's  own  writing.  It  lay  for  some  time  on  the  table 
untouched.  The  miller's  face  had  grown  so  dark  when 
he  saw  it  that  his  wife  had  not  dared  to  speak  of  it. 

Then  suddenly  he  took  it  up  and  opened  it.  Surely, 
a  more  pathetic  little  letter  was  never  penned,  but  it  did 
not  touch  him. 

She  told  him  how  she  had  struggled  between  love  and 
duty ;  how  unhappy  she  had  been  ;  how  dearly  she  loved 
him  ;  but  that  love  for  her  lover  had  been  stronger  than 
anything  else,  and  she  had  given  up  everything  to  go 
with  him,  but  not  without  pain.  Ah !  no,  a  thousand 
times  no,  not  without  pain!  Her  heart  had  ached  at 
leaving  the  old  home  —  at  leaving  them  —  but  she  could 
no  longer  bear  life  without  her  lover. 

She  was  married,  and  her  husband  was  so  good  to  her, 
she  loved  him  so  much ;  but  the  shadow  to  her  sunshine, 
the  clouds  in  her  sky,  the  drawback  to  her  otherwise 
perfect  happiness,  was — having  left  them. 

"  If  they  would  forgive  her,  if  they  would  receive  her 


76  THE  BELLE  OF  LTKN. 

and  her  husband,  if  they  wonld  send  a  few  words  of 
loving  pardon,  she  should  be  happy  as  woman  never  had 
been  happy  before." 

The  miller  read  on,  his  anger  growing  at  every  word. 

"  They  were  so  happy  —  Leon  had  three  days'  holiday 

from  the  college,  and  he  had  taken  such  a  lovely  little 

cottage  for  her  at  Lynn ;  he  would  get  some  pretty  fumi- 

,,  ture,  but  home  would  be  no  home  for  her  unless  they 

■  came  to  it  and  forgave  her." 

A  loving  appeal  that  would  have  touched  most  men ; 
it  only  angered  the  miller  more  deeply. 

"  She  will  see  what  my  answer  is,"  he  cried.  "  I  told 
her  to  choose  between  him,  and  me  /  she  chose  hmi  — 
now  she  must  do  without  me." 

He  went  out  that  morning  and  found  the  cottage  taken 
at  Lynn,  then  he  hastened  home,  and  collected  every- 
thing that  had  been  hers  —  the  pictures,  the  books,  the 
pretty  furniture  that  he  had  bought  with  so  much  pride 
for  her  room,  the  piano — all  her  little  ornaments,  presents 
from  him  —  her  wardrobe,  everything  in  this  world  that 
had  ever  belonged  to  her — the  very  toys  that  her  mother 
had  treasured  from  the  time  of  her  childhood,  were  sent 
to  the  cottage. 

"  I  will  keep  nothing  in  the  house  belonging  to  her," 
he  cried,  in  his  anger,  "  nothing." 

But  the  weeping  mother  concealed  one  thing  that  he 
in  his  haste  and  anger  had  forgotten  —  that  was  her 
portrait,  painted  by  an  artist  who  nad  stayed  some  time 
at  Lynn.    That  the  mother  cautiously  concealed. 

"  The  time  may  come,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  when  he 
will  notice  it." 

When  that  pretty  room  looking  over  Allan  Water  was 
dismantled  and  laid  bare,  it  seemed  to  the  miller  and  his 
wife  as  though  some  one  lay  dead  there,  and  at  last  he 
vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  close  it,  and  that  while 
he  lived  it  should  never  be  opened  again.  Who  can  tell 
what  the  strong  man  suffered  as  he  looked  round  the 
room ;  he  locked  the  door,  and  taking  the  key  he  flung 
it  into  the  depths  of  Allan  Water. 

With  all  tW  he  sent  to  the  cottage  there  wee  but 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  77 

these  few  lines :  "  You  have  made  your  choice  and  yon 
must  abide  by  it.  May  the  curse  of  the  disobedient 
follow  you  and  cling  to  you  so  long  as  you  shall  live  1 " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"WnrrEE  had  come,  crowned  with  snow  and  frost ;  all 
the  glories  of  the  summer  were  things  of  the  past.  The 
flowers  were  dead,  the  birds  had  gone  in  search  of  sun- 
light, the  winds  were  cold,  the  meadows  brown  and  bare ; 
notwithstanding  that  winter  has  a  charm  of  its  own,  a 
beauty  peculiar  to  itself,  there  was  a  sense  of  desolation  in 
the  absence  of  sunshine  and  flowers. 

Nowhere  was  this  desolation  felt  more  than  at  the  mill ; 
the  sunlight  had  gone  from  there  even  as  it  had  gone 
from  the  landscape  ;  she  who  had  been  the  light  of  the 
home  was  there  no  longer. 

The  great,  broad  sheet  of  Allan  "Water  stretched  out, 
darkling  and  drear,  without  the  light  of  the  sun  on  its 
surface,  but  nothing  was  so  much  changed  as  the  interior 
of  that  house,  which  had  once  been  the  happiest  home  in 
England. 

Not  many  months  had  passed  since  his  daughter  had 
left  him,  but  already  the  miller's  crisp,  curly  locks  were 
turning  gray,  his  ruddy,  cheery  face  had  grown  pale,  and 
the  deep  lines  that  pain  had  drawn  there  never  lessened. 
He  was  a  changed  man.  He  went  out  to  his  work,  but 
his  manner  was  moody  and  silent ;  no  one  ever  heard 
him  laugh  or  sing;  all  his  honest,  cheery  jests  were 
ended.  It  was  a  broken-down,  haggard  man  who  brood- 
ed by  the  mill-stream  and  on  the  banks  of  Allan  "Water ; 
he  had  lost  that  which  was  dearer  to  him  than  life  itself, 
and  life  held  nothing  for  him  which  could  in  any  way 
compensate  for  the  loss.  His  neighbors  talked  about 
him,  and  said  what  a  pity  it  was  that  he  made  such  a 
trouble  of  his  daughter's  marriage.  One  or  two,  in  kindly 
fashion,  tried  to  speak  to  him  about  it,  but  he  would 
never  listen  to  one  word;  he  held  up  his  ha,nd  with  ^ 


78       "  THE  BELLE   OF   LTKK. 

gesture  for  silence,  a  gesture  which  no  one  erer  ventnred 
to  disobey. 

At  first  those  who  knew  both  father  and  daughter 
would  try  to  make  peace  between  them,  would  speak  to 
the  miller  of  his  beloved  child  —  how  beautiful  she  look- 
ed, and  how  happy  she  seemed ;  no  one  ever  ventured  so 
to  speak  a  second  time. 

After  he  had  sent  away  everything  belonging  to  her, 
had  locked  up  her  emp^  room  and  thrown  the  key  into 
the  depths  of  Allan  Water,  he  never  mentioned  his 
daughter's  name ;  but  he  could  not  hide  the  ravages  that 
pain  and  sorrow  had  made  upon  him.  The  mill  had 
ceased  to  interest  him ;  the  magnificent  harvest  that  his 
fields  had  yielded,  the  corn  stored  in  his  granaries,  the 
fruit  that  had  filled  his  orchards,  the  ever-increasing 
account  at  the  bank,  gave  him  ao  pleasure.  He  had 
worked  for  his  daughter  all  his  life,  but  he  would  never 
BO  work  again.  Not  one  of  the  golden  sovereigns  he  had 
hoarded  with  such  loving  care  should  ever  go  to  enrich 
the  Frenchman  whom  he  hated  with  intense  hatred, 
because  he  had  stolen  his  daughter  from  him.  Time  hac 
been  when  the  miller  was  the  cheeriest,  the  blithest,  tht 
happiest  of  men  ;  there  was  no  trace  of  him  in  the  sullen, 
brooding  man  whom  people  began  to  avoid,  because  they 
began  to  dread  him. 

His  friends  and  neighbors  thought  him  hard.  After 
all,  it  was  a  love-match,  and  every  one  sympathizes  with 
a  love-match.  Every  one  liked  and  admired  the  hand- 
some young  husband  who  had  been  so  determined  to 
win  the  miller's  lovely  daughter ;  every  one  loved  and 
admired  the  beautiful  young  wife  who  had  given  up 
everything  to  marry  the  man  she  loved ;  and  everyone 
hoped  that  in  time  the  breach  would  be  healed.  It  was 
useless  to  do  or  say  anything  —  assuredly  the  miller's 
anger  would  wear  itself  out  in  time.  Meanwhile  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  people  was  certainly  with  the  young  pair. 
The  principal,  of  the  college  had  been  very  angry  over 
the  marriage,  and  had  half  threatened  that  Leon  de  Sol- 
dana  must  find  employment  elsewhere.  He  had  gone  to 
Sweetbrier  Cottage  to  say  so,  but  the  sight  of  that  lovely 
yoBug  face  disarmed  hiqi. 


THE   BELT-E   OF  LTNIT.  '  79 

"  You  have  done  wrong,"  he  said  to  Lima.  "  You 
have  helped  to  mar  your  husband's  whole  career  by 
marrying  so  young." 

But  she  raified  her  lovely  eyes  to  his. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said ;  "  we  loved  each 
other  so  much,"  and  the  principal  being  a  kind-hearted 
man,  was  not  angry.  He  made  some  little  increase  in  the 
young  count's  salary,  and  recommended  to  him  several 
pnvate  pupils  from  the  town  of  Lynn. 

So  that  during  that  first  year  there  was  no  pressure  of 
poverty  at  the  pretty  little  cottage ;  nothing  to  mar  the 

{)erfect  beauty  and  perfect  poetry  of  one  of  the  sweetest 
ove  stories  ever  told. 

No  one  could  see  the  young  husband  and  his  wife  to- 
gether without  warmest  sympathy ;  they  loved  each  other 
80  dearly,  were  so  entirely  the  whole  world  to  each  other. 

It  was  only  the  old  people  who  looked  at  each  other  so 
sadly,  and  said  that  it  was  too  bright  and  too  beautiful  to 
last ;  only  the  old  who  knew,  by  most  bitter  experience, 
the  strength  and  the  worth  of  human  love. 

The  little  cottage,  framed  in  flowers  and  foliage,  was 
earthly  Paradise,  the  prettiest  little  home  in  Lynn,  even 
as  its  mistress  was  always  and  ever  the  Belle  of  Lynn ; 
the  simple  dwellers  in  Lynn  were  proud  of  her,  and  fond 
of  her ;  the  only  drawback  to  what  otherwise  would  have 
been  perfect  happiness  for  Lima  was  the  separation  from 
her  parents;  but  that  could  not  last,  she  argued  within 
herself;  her  father  must  yield,  and  then  —  then  would 
come  perfect  bliss. 

It  had  been  a  terrible  trouble  to  her  when,  on  reaching 
home,  she  read  those  lines  written  by  her  father.  The 
words  never  left  her  mind  : 

"  The  curse  of  the  disobedient." 

To  her  infinite  distress,  Leon  had  laughed  at  them,  said 
they  were  melodramatic,  and  seemed  to  ridicule  them, 
until  he  saw  how  much  they  affected  his  wife. 

"  You  do  not  know  your  English  proverbs,  my  dar- 
ling," said  the  young  count.  "  There  is  one  that  runs 
ill  this  fashion  —  'Curses,  like  chickens,  come  home  to 
roost.'  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  half->frighteued  eyes :  that  he 


So  THI  BELLB   OF  LTNlf . " 

should  speak  lightly  or  think  lightly  of  anything  so  terri- 
ble as  her  father's  curse,  seemed  dreadful  to  her.  She 
did  not  understand  how  light  and  mercurial  is  the  French 
temperament,  how  laughter  and  tears  lie  close  together 
in  those  laughter-loving  natures. 

"  If  that  means  that  my  father's  curse  would  recoil 
upon  himself,  I  would  far  rather  that  it  fell  upon  me," 
she  cried. 

"  The  probability  is,  my  darling,  that  it  will  not  fall 
upon  either,  but  will  remain  quite  harmless,  just  as  it  is," 
said  the  young  count,  with  a  smile. 

But  she  could  not  forget  the  words — they  were  always 
ringing  through  her  heart  and  brain,  and  when  she  was 
alone  she  found  herself  continually  wondering  how  they 
could  come  true. 

"  The  curse  of  the  disobedient !  " 

What  curse  could  happen  to  her?  A  curse  meant 
some  terrible  evil.  What  evil  could  possibly  befall  her  ? 
Nothing  while  she  had  the  love  of  her  husband  ;  she 
could  not  know  other  evil  than  the  loss  of  that.  Poverty 
would  be  perhaps  hard  to  bear,  but  by  his  side  it  would 
matter  so  little.  Sickness  would  be  bad,  but  nothing  if 
he  were  at  hand  to  console  and  comfort  her. 

She  could  imagine  no  evil  that  could  befall  her  while 
she  had  her  husband's  love,  and  she  could  never  lose 
that;  nothing  was  safe  on  earth  but  that;  as  the  stars 
were  fixed  in  the  heavens,  as  the  seasons  were  fixed  to 
time,  as  day  followed  night,  as  the  sun  rose  and  set,  so 
fixed,  so  sure,  so  unchangeable,  was  her  husband's  love 
for  her.  Nothing  could  rob  her  of  that,  nothing  could 
take  it  from  her,  no  curse  could  touch  it.  While  that 
was  hers,  she  felt  that  she  could  defy  the  whole  world. 

Her  happiness,  her  love,  and  her  beauty  grew  with  the 
days;  never  had  husband  been  so  devoted  as  hers;  never 
love  so  true  or  so  chivalrous  —  never  girl  so  beloved. 
There  was  but  the  one  cloud  in  her  sky  —  her  separation 
from  her  parents.  At  first,  after  her  return  home,  she 
had  made  great  efforts.  She  had  written  many  times, 
but  the  letters  had  been  returned  unopened  and  unread. 

Once,  and  this  had  been  the  hardest  to  bear,  when  she 
was  walking  in  the  streets  of  Lynn  and  in  the  distance 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYSK.  81 

she  saw  her  father.  Her  heart  beat  fast  at  the  sight  of 
tlie  well-known  figure  and  the  changed  but  familiar  face. 
She  would  have  hastened  to  him,  but  he  turned  away  — 
he  would  not  meet  her  or  look  at  her.  Again,  when  she 
had  wandered  near  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  she  saw 
her  mother  crossing  the  clover  meadows,  and  the  girl's 
heart  went  out  to  her  with  a  great  passionate  cry. 

But  her  mother  did  not  wait  for  her ;  perhaps  the 
miller  was  in  sight,  perhaps  she  remembered  too  vividly 
his  threats  and  menaces.  She  did  not  stop,  but  as  she 
hurried  back  to  Allan  Mill,  one  heard  on  the  soft  summer 
wind  the  sound  of  a  woman's  bitter  wailing  and  passion- 
ate sob. 

A  year  had  passed,  the  beautiful  golden  summer  with 
its  wealth  of  fruit  and  flowers  had  come  again. 

The  tide  of  prosperity  seemed  to  have  set  in  at  the 
little  cottage.  It  was  wonderful  what  an  ardor  for  learn- 
ing French  had  seized  upon  the  inhabitants  of  Lynn. 

The  young  teacher  had  more  pupils  than  he  could 
manage,  and  th^  lovely  summer  days,  as  they  glided  by, 
found  him  as  busy  as  he  was  happy.  He  spent  the  eveu- 
Lngs  in  the  beautiful  little  garden,  where  Lima  brought 
him  coffee  and  cigarettes. 

"  I  am  the  happiest  of  all  the  long  line  of  the  Sol- 
danas,"  he  said  to  her  one  evening,  when  the  sun  was 
setting  and  the  happy  birds  were  singing  themselves  to 
sleep ;  "  I  am  the  happiest  and  most  fortunate  of  all  the 
Soldanas,  although  I  have  never  worn  a  title  or  seen 
even  the  shadow  of  the  home  of  my  ancestors.  I  have  a 
dear  and  beautiful  wife  who  makes  up  for  all." 

She  looked  at  him  with  such  an  expression  of  delight 
on  her  face  it  was  almost  pitiful  to  see. 

"  Do  1  really  make  up  to  you  for  everything  you  have 
lost  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  threw  his  arms  around  her  and  drew  her  to  his 
heart ;  he  kissed  her  with  passionate  affection. 

"  I  declare,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  that  I  would  rather 
have  you  for  my  wife,  and  have  your  love,  than  be  the 
Emperor  of  France,  or  the  richest  man  in  the  world ! " 

"  You  mean  that,  Leon  2  "  she  said,  her  lovely  face  all 
Hushed  with  delight 


83  THE  BELLS   OF  LTHK. 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it,"  he  replied.  "  Why,  Lima,  I 
do  more  than  mean  it ;  if  I  had  been  reigning  lord  of  the 
whole  domain  of  Soldana  —  I  would  have  given  up  all  to 
have  married  you  I  " 

He  spoke  the  words  and  she  listened  to  them ;  the 
time  came  when  both  remembered  them  with  bitterness 
and  pain. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

"  Thb  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth,"  says 
the  poet;  but  at  Sweetbrier  Cottage  the  course  was 
smooth  enough. 

"  I  shall  anvays  live  in  hope,"  said  the  beautiful  young 
wife.  "  I  am  sure  the  day  will  come  when  my  father  will 
find  that  he  cannot  do  without  me  any  longer,  and  will 
come  in  search  of  me,  and  then,  Leon,  I  shall  be  the  very 
happiest  woman  who  has  ever  lived ;  and  it  will  all  come 
right,  will  it  not,  Leon  ? " 

He  answered,  laughingly,  "  Yes,"  but  he  did  not  really 
care  much  about  the  matter,  only  so  far  as  his  beautiful 
young  wife's  happiness  was  concerned.  The  miller  had 
never  been  particularly  civil  to  him.  He  had  hated  him 
with  relentless  hatred  from  the  moment  he  found  out  that 
he  wanted  his  daughter.  He  cared  very  little  whether 
the  miller  came  near  or  not,  and  he  wondered  greatly  that 
his  wife  should  attach  so  much  importance  to  it. 

If  the  plain  truth  had  been  told,  he  preferred  matters 
as   they  were.     His   beautiful  lima  was  more   his  own 
than  if  her  time  and  attention  had  been  divided  betwet : 
him  and  her  parents. 

There  are  few  people  in  this  life  who  can  boast  of  one 
year  of  entire  happiness.  Lima  did,  and  in  the  afttr 
years  she  could  never  remember  the  first  warning  of  the 
shadow  that  was  to  fan. 

He  talked  much  to  her  ot  France,  and  of  the  ancient 
glories  of  his  race.  He  liked  to  sit  out  with  her  in  the 
cottage  garden,  near  where  the  great  sheaves  of  white 
lilies  grew,  and  tell  her  all  the  stories  of  his  ancestors : 
bow  thej  had  ioa^ht  in    the  Crusades^  liow  they  had 


•THB  BELLE  OP  LYNN.  8^ 

gerved  king  and  country,  how  they  had  been  "WofeliippeiX 
by  those  who  lived  on  their  domain  —  they  had  dom> 
great  deeds,  of  which  all  France  had  been  proud. 

"  And  now,"  he  added,  as  he  watched  tne  rays  of  tb  ^ 
sunset  on  the  white  lilies,  "  now  I  am  the  last  of  what 
was  once  one  of  the  most  powerful  families  in  France. 
When  I  die  the  name  of  Soldana  will  be  extinct.  If  ever 
the  history  of  our  family  is  written,  it  will  be  told  how  I 
was  born  and  lived  and  died  in  exile." 

"  But  you  are  not  unhappy,  because  you  have  me," 
ehe  said,  laying  her  loving  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  That  is  true,  Lima,"  he  answered.  "  I  would  rather 
have  you  than  all  France  put  together." 

"  Shall  you  never  go  back  to  France  ? "  she  asked, 
wistfully. 

"  I  have  never  been  there,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  bom 
in  England.  No,  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  shall  ever  see 
my  beautiful  France." 

"  Could  you  not  go  there  in  disguise  ? "  she  asked. 
**  Should  you  be  discovered,  what  would  be  done  to 
you  ? " 

He  laughed  bitterly. 

"  I  should  be  sent  away,  or  put  into  prison,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  am  not  quite  sure  which.  My  mother  lives 
in  France,  hidden  in  some  out-of-the-world  nook.  I  wish 
ehe  could  see  you,  Lima.  My  poor,  proud,  loving  mother ! 
her  very  heart  craves  and  yearns  for  me,  yet  I  shall  never 
see  her!  I  cannot  go  to  her,  and  she  cannot  leave 
France." 

"  Is  your  mother  proud  ? "  she  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  I  should  think  that  she  was  the  poorest  and  the 
proudest  woman  in  the  whole  wide  world.  She  looks 
upon  me  as  a  disinherited  young  prince,  and  herself  as  a 
kind  of  displaced  queen,"  he  replied.  "  I  think  myself 
there  is  no  pride  so  grim,  so  terrible,  so  unrelenting,  as 
the  pride  of  a  person  who  has  lost  all  that  the  world 
holds  dear.  I  have  thought  at  times  that  if  my  mother 
had  been  rich,  and  had  her  proper  position  in  the  world, 
she  might  have  been  an  amiable  woman." 

"  Is  she  not  amiable  ?  "  askod  Lima ;  and  her  husband 
laughed 


84  THB  BELLE  OF  LTIHS. 

"  No,  my  darling.  It  is  some  years  since  I  have  seen 
her,  and  then  she  was  as  imperious  as  any  empress." 

In  the  after-years  she  remembered  this  conversation, 
and  wondered  why  she  had  not  thought  more  about  this 
mother,  so  poor,  so  proud,  so  haughty. 

As  there  are  links  in  a  chain,  and  each  link  is  of  para- 
mount importance,  so  when  she  came  to  look  back  on 
her  life,  she  found  the  links  that,  when  connected,  made 
the  fatal  chain. 

The  first  link.  She  went  into  the  pretty  little  parlor 
one  summer  afternoon  when  the  room  looked  like  a 
bower  of  roses,  and  found  her  husband  sitting  near  the 
window  with  an  engraving  in  his  hand.  He  was  study- 
ing it  earnestly,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  pictured  face. 
He  was  so  completely  engrossed  in  contemplation  that  he 
did  not  hear  her  enter  the  room,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  came  into  his  presence  without  any  sign  of  delight  or 
welcome  from  him,  and  for  that  reason  she  remembered 
it.  She  went  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  "What  are  you  looking  at,  Leon  ? "  she  asked  ;  and 
there  was  just  a  tinge  of  jealously  in  the  loving  heart, 
that  he  should  look  so  long  and  so  lovingly  at  anything 
but  herself. 

He  held  out  the  picture  to  her. 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  Emperor  Napoleon,"  she  cried.  "  Why,  Leon, 
what  are  you  looking  at  him  for  ? " 

"  I  am  studying  his  face,  Lima,"  he  answered. 

"  His  face,"  she  cried  again.     "  "What  for  ?  " 

"  I  am  trying  to  find  out  what  he  is  like ;  what  qualities 
he  has.     Can  you  help  me  ?  " 

"  But  why  do  you  want  to  know  that  ?"  she  asked,  still 
wondering. 

"  It  is  a  fancy  of  mine,"  he  replied.  "  Now,  Lima, 
look  well  at  the  emperor's  face,  and  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  it." 

She  took  the  picture  from  his  hand,  and  held  it  where 
the  light  fell  full  upon  it.  She  looked  at  it  very  earnestly. 

"  It  is  a  noble  face,"  she  said,  "  but  inscrutable.  I 
cannot  read  it ;  and  the  first  thin^  that  strikes  me  is  its 
profound  sadoeaL" 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN. 


85 


"Sadness!"  he  cried;  then  he  went  np  to  her,  and 
threw  his  arms  around  her  in  a  careless  fashion,  while  he 
looked  at  the  portrait  with  her, 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "  there  is  a  great  shadow 
on  it ;  the  eyes  are  sad,  and  the  lips  are  sad.  It  is  a  good 
face,  Lima  ;  it  is  the  face  of  a  man  to  be  trusted.  Is  it  a 
kindly  face  ? " 

It  might  only  be  her  fancy,  bat  it  seemed  to  her  that 
he  asked  the  question  with  bated  breath. 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so,"  she  replied.  "  It  looks  to 
me  a  very  kindly  face." 

Then  he  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Lima,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  judging  from  his  face, 
should  you  take  the  emperor  to  be  a  man  who  would  do  a 
generous  deed  ? " 

And  this  time  she  was  not  mistaken.  He  looked  at  her 
as  he  spoke  with  eager  anxiety,  and  waited  her  answer  in 
breathless  suspense. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  ;  "  judging  from  his  face,  I  should 
say  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  is  capable  of  most  gener- 
ous deeds.  But  why  do  you  ask  me  ?  How  strange  that 
this  fancy  should  come  to  you  now,  Leon." 

"  No  man  is  master  of  his  own  fancies,"  said  the  young 
husband,  lightly. 

He  took  the  picture  from  her  hand,  and  wrapped  it 
carefully  in  paper,  and  tied  it  with  a  string. 

"  Where  did  it  come  from?  "  asked  Lima,  with  a  sud- 
den outburst  of  curiosity. 

"  I  borrowed  it  from  the  principal's  room,"  he  replied ; 
and  the  beautiful  blue  eyes  opened  more  widely  still. 

"Did  you  really,  Leon,  borrow  it  —  bring  it  all  the 
way  home  on  purpose  to  study  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  did,"  was  the  brief  answer.  Then  he  changed  the 
subject  altogether. 

"  Let  us  go  down  to  Allan  "Water,"  he  said ;  "  we  need 
not  go  near  the  mill.  I  have  a  thirst  and  a  fever  on  me 
to-night,  which  nothing  but  the  sight  of  the  clear,  deep 
water  and  the  foaming  mill-stream  will  dispel." 

They  watched  the  sun  set  over  the  shining  water,  and 
over  the  bonnv  green  woods.  Leon  said  little,  but  he 
fieemed  to  be  thinking  dee^j. 


86  THE  BELLE  OF  LTHN. 

"  I  am  afraid,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  but  a 
dull  companion  for  you.  The  sight  of  the  beautiful  water 
has  set  me  dreaming.  How  little  I  thought,  when  I  first 
saw  it,  that  on  its  green  banks  I  should  find  the  one  dear 
love  of  my  life." 

"  Dream,  think,  speak,  do  anything  you  will,"  she 
said,   "  only  love  me  —  love  me  always." 

"  It  would  be  very  difficult  to  do  anything  else,"  he 
aaid. 

They  walked  through  the  dewy  meadows  home,  but 
that  night,  when  the  moon  shone  in  at  the  casement 
window,  and  fell  on  her  husband's  sleeping  face,  she  saw 
something  new  and  strange  in  the  expression  of  it ;  and 
as  she  watched  him  she  saw  his  lips  move  —  he  was 
talking  in  his  sleep,  but  so  gently  that  she  could  not  dis- 
tinguish the  words  he  murmured,  only  that  ever  and  anon 
he  sighed,  *'  La  Belle  France !  La  Belle  France  !  "  That 
was  the  first  link  in  the  long  and  fatal  chain. 

The  second  was,  that  it  struck  her  one  afternoon  her 
husband  wished  her  to  go  out.  He  had  returned  from  the 
college  earlier  than  usual,  and  almost  the  first  desire  he 
expressed  was  for  something  that  it  was  impossible  to  get, 
nnless  she  went  to  the  town  of  Lynn.  She  did  not  leel 
inclined  for  a  long,  solatary  walk,  so  she  sent  the  little 
maid-servant,  and  she  fancied,  when  she  returned  to  the 
room,  that  he  looked  somewhat  disappointed. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  gone  yourself,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

"  No,  I  am  rather  too  tired  for  a  walk  to-day,"  she 
replied. 

Then  he  asked  for  something  else,  and  the  finding  of 
which  would  necessitate  her  absence  for  some  time.  She 
looked  at  him,  half  puzzled  ;  as  a  rule,  if  she  left  the  room 
while  he  was  in  it,  he  would  ask  her  where  she  was  going, 
why  she  conld  not  remain  ?  She  could  hardly  realize  that 
he  wished  to  be  alone.  She  rose,  half  sadly,  to  comply 
with  his  request ;  it  was  such  a  novelty  for  her  to  feel 
that  she  was  in  the  way.  She  left  him,  and  remained 
absent  much  longer  than  she  need  have  done,  hoping 
every  moment  to  hear  him  call  her  in  his  eager  voice, 
but  there  came  no  sound  from  the  room  where  she  had 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  87 

left  him.  "What  could  he  be  doing  that  he  had  so  evi- 
dently desired  her  absence  ?  Resting  ?  Ah,  no !  he  could 
never  rest  without  her.  Not  feeling  quite  happy  or  light 
of  heart,  she  wandered  into  the  garden,  listening  every 
moment  for  the  voice  which  after  all,  never  sounded. 
She  took  a  sudden  resolution,  she  hastened  back  to  the 
room  and  opened  the  door;  he  was  busily  engaged  in 
writing,  writing,  with  his  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  ail 
aflame,  so  engrossed  that  he  did  not  see  her  enter,  did 
not  seem  to  remember  her,  but  threw  sheet  after  sheet  of 
closely  written  paper  from  his  desk  to  the  floor.  She 
withdrew  gently,  and  for  some  short  time  the  world 
seemed  empty  and  blank ;  it  was  the  first  time  that  he 
had  forgotten  her. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

The  next  link  in  the  chain  was  but  a  slight  one,  yet,  in 
the  after-years  when  she  placed  them  together  so  as  to 
form  one  great  chain,  it  was  not  an  unimportant  one. 
When  they  were  first  married,  such  a  thing  as  a  letter  or 
a  newspaper  never  came  near  the  house.  The  postman 
on  his  rounds  would  smile  as  he  passed  the  garden  gate, 
but  he  never  left  a  letter  there.  Now  they  came  in  un- 
usual numbers,  but  all  from  France.  Some  were  large 
and  weighty  letters,  some  in  great  blue  envelopes,  others 
were  smaller  and  thin. 

One  morning — it  was  just  the  beginning  of  September 
then,  and  the  lovely  autumn  flowers  were  all  in  bloom — 
she  went  out  to  gather  some  fresh  and  sweet  flowers  for 
the  breakfast-table,  and  when  her  hands  were  filled  with 
the  loveliest  blooms,  the  postman  appeared. 

He  gave  her  four  letters,  all  from  France,  two  large 
and  heavy,  two  others  smaller.  She  took  them  in  with 
the  flowers,  and  laid  them  by  her  husband's  plate.  How 
eagerly  he  raised  them  —  how  eagerly  he  tore  open  the 
envelopes  and  devoured  the  contents. 

"  Your  letters  are  all  in  French,  Leon  !  "  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  and  all  from  France,"  he  replied  ;  "  they  would 
not  interest  you ;  they  all  refer  to  the  same  business." 


88  THE  BiX.LE  OF  LYNN. 

"  I  thought  yon  had  nothing  to  do  with  France  now,*' 
she  said;  and,  quite  unconsciously  to  herself,  there  was 
some  little  pique  in  her  voice. 

"  I  half  believe,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  jealous  of  la 
belle  France." 

*'  I  am  jealous  of  anything  and  everything  that  takes 
one  of  your  thoughts  from  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  begin 
to  think  that  la  belle  France  takes  many." 

"  Not  one  that  ought  to  be  yours,"  he  said,  gallantly ; 
but  she  noticed  after  that  morning  how  frequently  ne 
would  walk  out  alone  in  the  garden  before  breakfast  and 
take  the  letters  from  the  postman's  hands. 

He  did  not  ask  her  to  go  out  with  him  in  the  lovely 
autumn  evenings  ;  he  did  not  care  to  see  the  sun  set  over 
the  banks  of  Allan  Water;  he  was  always  writing. 
Those  hours  which  had  been  so  precious  and  so  few,  and 
which  had  always  beer  devoted  to  walking  out  with  her, 
were  now  occupied  entirely  in  writing. 

So  winter  came,  and  if  the  young  wife's  face  was  not 
quite  so  bright,  she  was  still  as  happy  as  it  was  possible  to 
be.  The  chill  winds  were  blowing ;  King  Frost  had  taken 
possession  of  the  whole  country  round  ;  there  was  ice  on 
the  bosom  of  Allan  Water ;  cold,  yet  as  beautiful  in  its 
way  as  summer ;  and  the  winter  brought  with  it  Christ- 
mas, Christmas  brought  holidays  for  Leon  de  Soldana. 

"  Lima,"  he  said,  one  morning,  "  is  there  any  place 
where  you  would  like  to  go  for  these  holidays? "  and  she 
answered,  "  No,  there  is  no  place  I  love  like  home." 

"  Do  you  never  wish  for  what  people  call  change  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Change  from  home  and  you  /  "  she  cried.  "  Why, 
Leon,  you  are  jesting." 

He  threw  back  his  handsome  head  with  a  careless  laugh, 
half  impatient,  half  amused. 

"  I  do  not  see  any  jest,"  he  said ;  "  I  enjoy  change." 

She  interrupted  him  eagerly. 

"  Do  not  say  that,  Leon.  It  is  not  true !  I  will  not 
believe  it !  You  do  not  love  change.  See  how  well  you 
love  Allan  Water,  and  see  how  true  you  are  to  me. 

"  Still,  I  like  change  of  air  and  scene,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
was  merely  offering  to  you  what  I  like  myself," 


THE   BELLE   OP   LTNN.  S9 

"  But,  Leon,  why  at  Christmas  ?  Christinas  is  a  home 
festival :  why  should  we  go  away  ? " 

"  We  have  a  whole  month  before  us,"  he  said. 

But  his  wife  was  anxious;  it  seemed  to  her  that  he 
was  withholding  something  from  her.  She  noticed  that 
he  spoke  but  little  of  what  would  happen  after  Christ- 
mas ;  that  he  never  alluded  to  what  they  should  do  when 
the  great  festival  came  round.  There  were  times  when 
she  fancied  that  he  looked  anxious.  Surely  he  couH  not 
be  keeping  anything  from  her  —  there  was  nothing  to 
keep ;  he  could  not  have  any  money  troubles ;  he  had 
been  so  wonderfully  successful  in  his  teaching. 

A  new  anxiety  came  to  her.  She  fancied  that  he  had 
something  to  say  to  her,  and  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
to  speak.  They  were  talking  one  winter's  evening,  when, 
the  fire  burned  brightly  and  the  lamps  were  lighted, 
speaking  of  one  of  the  pupils  of  the  college,  who  had 
died  recently  after  a  painful  illness.  Leon  looked  at  his 
wife,  whose  beautiful  face  shone  brightly  tn  the  fire-light. 

"  Lima,"  he  said,  "  what  is  the  greatest  pain  in  the 
world,  should  you  think  ? " 

"  The  greatest  and  most  bitter  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes  —  the  one  that  hurts  those  who  suffer  from  it 
most." 

"  I  should  think,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  the  pain  of 
finding  that  you  loved  one  who  was  unworthy  of  love." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said.  "  But  do  you  think  it 
often  happens  that  people  find  out  the  beloved  one  is 
worthless  ?  Love  is  blind,  and  does  not  see  the  faults  of 
the  beloved." 

"  I  should  say  love  sees  every  fault,"  she  said,  slowly, 
"  but  loves  on,  in  spite  of  all.  Leon,"  she  added,  sud- 
denly, "  if  I  saw  in  you  every  fault  that  man  can  have,  I 
should  love  you  in  spite  of  them  —  it  would  not  lessen  or 
change  my  love." 

He  looked  at  her  with  laughter  in  his  eyes. 

"  There  is  one  fault  you  would  never  forgive  in  me," 
he  said ;  "and  that  is,  if  I  found  any  face  fairer,  any 
eyes  brighter  than  your  own." 

^I  soould  never  forgive  you  if  joa  loved  any  one 


to  THK  BKLLE   OF   LTHN. 

else,"  she  said,  gravely;  "but  that  yon  will  never  do, 
Leon." 

"  Never,  my  darling,"  he  said,  kissing  the  beautiful 
young  face. 

Then  it  seemed  as  though  the  subject  had  a  weird  fas* 
cination  for  him. 

"  Lima,"  he  said,  "  of  course  such  a  thing  never  could 
be ;  it  is  neither  in  the  bounds  of  possibihty  nor  proba- 
bility —  but  suppose  that  I  did  forget  you  and  care  for 
some  one  else — what  should  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  should  die,  Leon,"  she  answered,  gently. 

"  But  no  one  can  die  when  they  like,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  should  wait  for  death  to  come  for 
me ;  I  should  seek  it  —  but  such  a  thing  could  never  be, 
could  it,  Leon  ? " 

"No,  my  darling  —  never,"  and  every  word  of  this 
kind  that  he  spoke  she  gathered  in  her  heart  and  she 
never  forgot  one. 

Still  the  idea  haunted  her  and  pursued  her  that  he  had 
something  to  say  to  her. 

"  Lima,"  he  would  begin,  then  pause  abruptly,  and 
when  she  raised  an  expectant  face  to  his  he  would  ask 
some  trivial  question.     At  last  she  went  up  to  him. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  fancy  over  you." 

He  looked  startled  and  conscious. 

"  Do  not  indulge  it,"  he  said.  "  We  have  agreed  that 
fancies  are  all  nonense." 

"  This  is  a  grave  one,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  haunted 
by  a  conviction  that  you  have  something  to  say  to  me 
which  you  do  not  like  saying — is  it  so  ? " 

"  You  must  be  a  witch,  Lima.  It  is  so.  How  did  you 
find  it  out?" 

"  It  is  not  very  diflScult  to  discover,"  she  replied. 
"  Now  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  I  do  not  like  telling  you,"  he  said.  "  I  have  de- 
ferred it  from  day  to  day,  until  I  am  ashamed  of  not 
having  told  you.  It  will  pain  yon  and  hurt  you,  I 
know." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  quivering  lips.  "  Yoa 
frighten  me,  Leon." 

^  Nay,  darling,  there  is  nothing   to  fear.     It  is  this. 


THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN.  $1 

"We  have  not  been  parted  since  onr  marriage,  and  now  I 
find  it  absolutely  imperative  that  I  should  go  to  Franco 
at  Christmas." 

"  To  France ! "  she  said,  and  her  face  grew  colorless. 
"  But,  Leon,  you  will  take  me  with  you  —  you  could  not 
leave  me  here  ?  " 

"Unfortunately,  there  is  no  alternative,"  he  replied. 
"  I  would  most  gladly  take  you,  but  that  is  utterly 
impossible.  I  must  seek  some  disguise  myself.  I  could 
not  take  you." 

"  But  why  are  you  going  ? "  she  cried,  in  an  agony  of 
fear  and  misery.     "  Why  need  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  on  business  that  I  can  not  explain  to  you 
now.  Hereafter,  when  it  is  all  over,  I  will  tell  you,  but 
now  you  would  not  understand." 

She  went  up  to  him  and  knelt  down  by  his  side. 

"  My  darling,"  she  said,  "  do  not  go.  I  have  a  fore- 
boding, a  terrible  fear  over  this  journey." 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said,  firmly ;  "  there  is  no  help  for 
it."  ^  ^  ■  ^ 

She  slid  from  his  arms  to  the  ground  with  a  passionate 
cry,  and  she  lay  like  a  wounded  bird.  He  tried  to  raise 
her  and  to  cheer  her.  But  the  dawn  of  the  tragedy  had 
begun,  and  she  seemed  by  instinct  to  know  it. 


93  THE  BELLS  OF  LTNH. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

The  twentieth  of  December  came,  a  day  that  was 
always  to  be  remembered  in  Lima's  life,  the  day  on 
whicn  the  young  husband  she  loved  so  well  was  to  leave 
her  for  the  first  time  since  their  marriage.  Since  he  had 
told  her,  the  thought  of  this  parting  had  been  on  her 
heart  like  a  weight  of  lead ;  it  was  her  one  dread,  the 
one  idea  that  never  left  her.  She  could  not  realize  to 
herself  the  time  when  he  would  be  gone,  what  she  should 
do,  what  would  become  of  her ;  how  she  should  fill  tho 
long  hours.  She  had  lived  so  entirely  for  him,  that  she 
could  not  understand  what  her  life  would  be  without 
him,  and  now  the  day  had  come  when  he  was  to  leave 
her. 

A  cold,  bright  day :  the  snow  on  the  ground  waa 
frozen  hard,  the  hoar  frost  shone  on  the  bare  branches  of 
the  trees,  on  the  hedges  and  the  meadows.  The  ice  lay 
thick  on  the  bosom  of  Allan  Water ;  perhaps  the  pretti- 
est sight  of  all  was  the  number  of  robin-redbreasts  flying 
about  in  the  snow. 

Neither  sight  nor  sound  could  cheer  the  desolate  heart 
of  the  young  wife.  In  vain  she  had  prayed  and  pleaded 
that  either  she  might  go  with  him,  or  that  he  would  stay 
with  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  only  important  thing  in  this 
world  was  that  they  should  be  together.  There  was 
nothing  of  suflBcient  interest,  in  her  estimation,  to  part 
them, 

"  I  would  not  leave  yon  for  a  whole  week  to  be  made 
Queen  of  Spain,"  she  said. 

"  I  shall  not  be  made  King  of  Spain,"  he  replied, 
laughingly,  "  and  Lima,  I  would  not  go  unless  it  was 
imperative." 

"  I  should  feel  so  much  easier  and  so  much  happier  if 
I  knew  what  you  were  going  for,"  she  said. 

"  And  that  I  will  tell  you  when  I  return,"  he  replied. 


THE  BELLB   OF  LYNN.  93 

He  could  not  understand  why  he  should  feel  this  part- 
ing 80  acutely. 

"  I  shall  soon  be  back,"  he  said  to  her  frequently.  "  I 
shall  only  be  away  for  a  few  weeks." 

"  But  I  shall  have  to  live  through  every  separate  mo- 
ment without  you,"  she  sighed. 

Yet  his  heart  was  touched  when  he  saw  her  packing 
his  portmanteau.  He  was  busy  writing,  and  she  had 
brought  all  that  he  would  require  into  the  room,  solely 
and  simply  that  she  might  have  the  happiness  of  looking 
at  him  while  she  was  at  work.  He  saw  how  lovingly  she 
prepared  everything ;  her  fingers  seemed  to  caress  each 
different  article  belonging  to  him ;  more  than  once  he 
saw  her  stoop  down  and  kiss  something  before  placing  it 
in  his  portmanteau,  and  he  thought  to  himself  how  much 
and  how  dearly  she  must  love  him  ;  and  then  he  seemed 
to  understand  better  how  she  should  miss  him.  That 
was  the  eve  of  his  departure ;  he  remembered  every 
detail  —  how,  more  than  once,  she  had  thrown  down  her 
work  and  hastily  crossed  the  room  to  go  to  him ;  how 
she  had  thrown  her  loving  arms  round  his  neck  and 
kissed  his  face  ;  how  she  had  cried  to  him  not  to  go,  not 
to  leave  her,  for  she  could  not  live  without  him. 

And  now  the  morning  had  come  —  shining,  bright, 
clear  and  cold.  Lima  rose  early,  and  her  husband  re- 
membered for  long  afterward  how  the  beautiful  face  lost 
its  color,  and  the  sweet  lips  quivered  when  she  tried  to 
smile.  She  made  him  some  coffee  and  some  toast,  but 
she  could  not  take  anything  herself. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  "  will  you  let  me  walk  to  the  station 
with  you  ? " 

"  Certainly,  my  darling,  if  yon  wish  it,"  he  replied. 

"  I  do  wish  it.  I  could  not  bear  to  say  good-bye  to 
you  here,  where  we  have  been  so  happy  together.  I 
should  like  my  farewell  to  be  associated  with  a  strange 
place,  not  with  home.  I  should  not  like  to  look  around 
me  every  hour  and  say  — '  that  is  where  I  stood  when  he 
kissed  me  for  the  last  time ;  that  is  where  he  said  good- 
bye.' I  could  not  bear  it.  I  shall  say  '  good-bye '  to  you 
at  the  station,  and  I  shall  not  see  it  again  until  you  come 
home;  then  I  shall  go  to  meet  you.    When  you  have 


94  THE   BELLE   OF    LYNN. 

gone  away,  every  time  I  look  at  that  chair  where  you  are 
sitting  now,  1  shall  see  you  and  go  over  again  all  that  we 
have  said,  and  I  have  thought,  Leon,"  she  added,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears,  "  kiss  me  here ;  that  will  be  a 
pleasant  memory  for  me  when  I  look  at  the  little  table 
witli  the  flowering  Christmas  rose  upon  it.  I  shall  say  to 
mjself,  '  It  was  there  he  kissed  me,  and  said  that  he 
would  love  me  forever  and  ever.'  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  he  said,  hastening  to  her,  and 
taking  her  in  his  arms.  He  kissed  her  face  with  passion- 
ate affection,  but  even  as  he  did  so  he  gave  one  glance  at 
the  clock,  as  though  he  felt  anxious  about  the  time. 

"  I  do  not  think  dying  could  be  worse  than  this," 
Lima  said  to  herself,  as  she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  cloak. 
"  Leon,"  she  cried,  "  do  you  know  that  I  shall  come  back 
to  this  house  and  find  it  empty  ;  do  you  know  all  that 
means  for  me? " 

"  It  is  only  for  a  time,  darling,"  he  said,  but  her  pas- 
sion of  grief  affected  him  ;  his  face  grew  white,  and  the 
hands  which  tried  to  soothe  and  caress  her  trembled. 

They  stood  together  at  the  threshold  of  the  little  home 
where  they  had  been  so  happy;  they  gave  one  long 
lingering  glance  at  the  pretty  porch,  the  snow-covered 
garden. 

"  I  shall  be  back  before  the  snow  melts,"  said  Leon, 
and  they  walked  down  the  frosty  road  together. 

Some  who  met  her,  as  she  walked  home  alone  after  her 
husband  had  started,  hardly  recognized  her.  Her  face 
was  white  and  set ;  it  was  more  like  the  face  of  a  dead 
than  a  living  woman.  The  day  passed  for  her  in  a 
trance  of  grief ;  she  neither  eat,  drank,  slept,  nor  rested, 
until  at  last  the  little  maid  grew  alarmed,  and  asked  if 
she  should  fetch  any  one. 

Ah !  if  she  could  have  had  the  comfort  of  the  loving 
mother's  kindly  words  —  if  she  could  have  laid  her  head 
on  some  faithful,  loving  breast  and  wept  out  all  her  sor- 
row, it  would  have  been  well  for  her ;  but  there  was  no 
one  ;  her  young  husband  had  been  all  the  world  to  her; 
she  had  not  cared  to  make  friends  while  she  had  him. 

So  that  now,  in  her  sorrow  and  desolation,  she  was 
more  alone  than  any  one  eke  could  have  been. 


THE   BELLE   OF   LTNK.  95 

She  never  forgot  the  first  day ;  the  blank,  chill  desola- 
tion, the  despair.  The  greatest  pain  was  when  her  eyes 
gazed  on  anything  that  had  belonged  to  him,  that  he  had 
recently  used,  or  that  he  had  touched  before  his  depar- 
ture, "  If  every  day  is  to  be  like  this,"  she  said  to 
herself,  in  a  passion  of  regret,  "  I  shall  not  live  until  he 
comes  back."     There  was  no  comfort  anywhere. 

A  scene  that  had  in  it  some  pathos  was  passing  at  the 
mill  that  same  afternoon.  The  miller  came  in  from 
work  rather  earlier  than  usual.  No  longer  the  cheerful, 
genial,  kindly  man  who  had  a  kind  word  for  every  one, 
a  smile  and  a  jest,  but  a  morose  man  brooding  always 
over  a  hidden  sorrow ;  angry,  disappointed  in  his  best 
hopes. 

He  took  his  pipe  and  his  book ;  he  did  not  notice  that 
his  wife  continually  threw  at  him  imploring  glances. 
She  did  not  see  anything  in  his  face  which  gave  her  any 
help  or  hope.     At  last  she  spoke. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  news  in  Lynn  to-day  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  briefly. 

"  I  have,"  she  said,  tretnblingly,  but  he  did  not  ask 
her  what  it  was,  or  invite  her  to  continue  the  conversa- 
tion. "  I  have  heard  some  news,  John,"  she  continued, 
trembling  violently,  yet  determined  to  succeed  in  making 
him  listen  to  her.  "  News  that  seems  to  me  so  strange 
it  has  frightened  me." 

He  would  not  ask  her  what  it  was,  he  would  not  seem 
to  take  any  interest  in  it,  but  there  was  a  nervous,  almost 
excited  expression  in  his  eyes  that  told  her  what  was 
coming. 

"  I  went  to  Lynn  this  morning,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
John,  do  not  be  angry  with  me ;  I  wonder  why  I  am  so 
frightened  to  speak  to  you,  so  frightened  that  I  tremble, 
and  my  breath  comes  in  hot,  thick  gasps.  I  heard  some- 
thing that  I  must  tell  you,  even  if  you  should  kill  me  for 
it." 

"I  am  not  very  likely  to  kill  you,"  he  answered, 
grimly. 

"  I  heard,"  she  continued,  "  that  the  young  Frenchman 


96  iSE  BELLE  OF  LTOTf. 

has  gone  back  to  France,  and  that  she  — ,"  she  dare  not 
say  the  name  "  Lima,"  —  "  she  is  quite  alone." 

The  miller's  face  grew  livid,  bnt  he  nttered  no  words. 

"  Quite  alone,  dear,"  said  the  trembling  woman,  laying 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  "  and  my  heart  aches  for  her, 
it  yearns  over  her.  It  is  drawn  toward  her  as  though 
some  one  pulled  the  strings.  Oh,  John  —  John,  my 
heart's  love,  my  dear  husband,  let  me  go  to  her.  They 
say  he  has  gone  for  a  holiday,  tliat  he  will  come  back 
when  Christmas  is  all  over,  but  I  do  not  know ;  my  heart 
is  heavy.  Some  one  who  saw  her  at  the  station  told  me 
chat  there  never  was  so  sorrowful  a  face,  that  no  one 
ever  shed  more  bitter  tears,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
that  she  is  alone  and  desolate ;  let  me  go  to  her,  John." 

He  did  not  utter  one  word. 

"  I  would  not  vex  you,  I  would  not  tease  you  for  the 
whole  wide  world,  John,"  pleaded  the  faithful  creature, 
*'  but  she  is  mine ;  I  nursed  her ;  she  is  my  very  own. 
Let  me  go  to  her  ? " 

She  clasped  her  hands  round  his  neck.  He  unclasped 
them. 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,"  he  said.  "  You  are  a 
woman  and  weak.     Wait  one  moment." 

He  crossed  the  room  and  took  the  big  Bible  from  its 
ehelf.     He  laid  it  open  before  her. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said,  sternly. 

She  read : 

"  Lima  Derwent,  born  May  ISth.     Died  August  22d.'* 

"  You  see  that  word  '  dead,'  "  he  cried.  "  How  can 
you  ask  me  if  you  may  go  to  see  a  person  after  whose 
name  I  have  written  the  word  '  dead '  ?  That  is  my 
answer." 

She  fell  into  a  passion  of  tears,  she  clung  to  him,  and 
he  put  her  away. 

"  You  have  my  answer,"  he  said,  "  and  if  you  leave 
the  house  on  such  an  errand  you  never  re-enter  it." 

"  You  are  hard  and  cruel,"  she  sobbed ;  "  how  can 
you  be  so  hard  ? " 

That  answer  would  have  been,  bad  he  spoken,  because 
be  loved  her  so  much. 


THS  B£LLB   OF   LYITH.  §7 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  LADY  —  at  that  time  the  most  beautiful,  and  with 
one  exception  the  most  powerful  woman  in  Europe  —  sat 
alone  in  one  of  the  most  magnificent  salons  in  the  palace 
of  Versailles  —  a  lady  whose  diadem  has  been  washed  in 
tears,  whose  throne  has  been  a  terror,  whose  life  has  been 
the  most  romantic,  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  sorrowful 
ever  known  —  whose  loveliness,  whose  imperial  grace  was 
once  the  light  of  Europe — whose  sadness  and  sorrow  have 
been  shared  by  all  who  know  and  revere  her  —  Eugenie, 
the  Empress  of  the  French. 

She  was  then  in  the  pride  of  her  wonderful  beauty, 
wife  of  a  man  before  whom  the  whole  world  bowed — 
empress  of  a  proud,  bright  nation  ;  adored  by  those  who 
knew  her,  admired  and  esteemed  even  by  those  who  did 
not ;  leader  of  the  most  gay  and  brilliant  court  in  Europe 
— mother  of  the  young  heir  who  in  tliose  days  was 
known  to  the  people  as  Dieu  donne,  or  "  God  given  "  — 
a  lady  of  imperial  grace  and  beauty,  and  of  a  kindly, 
gentle  heart.  She  sat  alone  in  the  brilliant  salon ;  the 
ladies  of  her  suite  were  in  attendance,  but  she  had  slowly 
wandered  away  from  them,  and  stood  at  one  of  the 
large  windows  that  looked  over  the  splendid  gardens  of 
Versailles. 

Her  beautiful  face  was  grave,  her  eyes  full  of  shadows. 
Was  it  possible  that  some  presentiment  of  the  time  when 
3xlle  and  sorrow,  sickness  and  death,  would  take  the  place 
of  royalty  and  magnificence ;  of  the  time  when  "  Fair 
France  "  would  be  her  home  no  more ;  when  her  imperial 
husband  would  find  his  sepulcher  on  the  sea-washed  shores 
of  the  country  which  had  once  been  his  home ;  when  her 
son,  the  most  gallant  of  young  princes,  would  be  slain  in 
a  foreign  land  i 

There  was  no  sign  of  these  horrors  coming  then :  the 
brilliant  sun  was  shining,  the  skies  were  blue,  the  flowers 
aU  in  bloom,  the  birds  sinking,  the  purple  vines  drooping 


98  THB  BBLLE  OF  LTVN. 

in  great  bunches,  the  golden  oranges  shone  in  the  midst 
of  green  leaves,  the  fountains  were  playing,  the  whole 
world  seemed  to  be  laughing  and  bright. 

Did  she  see  in  the  far  distance  the  shores  of  the  land 
that  was  to  be  her  home  ?  Did  she  see  herself  discrowned 
and  reviled  ?  Did  she  wonder  even  then  that  the  hands 
and  the  swords  of  all  men  were  not  raised  to  defend  her  I 

A  superb  piece  of  cloth  of  gold,  richly  embroidered  in 
violets,  lay  near  her  ;  she  raised  it,  and  sighed  as  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  violets ;  then  one  of  her  ladies  came  to  her, 
saying  that  the  person  to  whom  she  had  promised  an 
audience  was  waiting. 

"  I  will  see  her  here,"  said  the  empress ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  a  stranger  was  ushered  into  the  room  —  a  lady, 
tall  and  stately,  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  with  a  face 
that  was  most  peculiar  and  striking  ;  it  could  never  have 
been  beautiful,  but  it  was  aristocratic  and  intensely  proud. 

She  bowed  in  graceful  respect  to  the  beautiful  em* 
press,  who  looked  at  her  with  kindly  attention. 

"  You  are  Madame  de  Soldana? "  she  said,  in  a  gentle 
voice. 

'*  I  am  the  most  unhappy  and  most  injured  of  women 
your  imperial  majesty ; "  was  madame's  answer. 

"  You  think  it  is  in  my  power  to  help  you,"  said  the 
empress.     "  Will  you  tell  me  how  ? " 

"  It  lies  within  your  majesty's  power  to  help  me 
greatly,"  said  the  suppliant.  "  With  your  majesty's  gra- 
cious permission,  I  will  explain  how." 

The  empress  slightly  bent  her  beautiful  head,  then, 
thinking  it  would  be  better  to  speak,  she  added : 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  listen  to  anything  you  have  to 
3ay." 

Then  Mme.  de  Soldana  began  her  story  —  gently  at 
first,  but  as  the  memory  of  her  wrongs  came  before  her, 
she  grew  excited  and  animated.  Then  it  became  a  mag- 
nificent piece  of  declamation,  one  that  on  the  stage  would 
literally  have  brought  down  the  house.  Her  proud  face 
quivered  with  emotion,  her  fierce  eyes  literally  flashed 
fire.  She  told  what  the  Soldanas  had  been,  of  their 
ancient  honor  and  glories,  of  their  brave  deeds;  how 
they  had  fought  in  me  Crusades^  and  oa  the  battle-fieidfl 


THE  BELLE  OF  LTNH,  99 

of  France;  of  their  honor,  courage,  and  renown.  She 
told  of  the  wealth  that  had  been  theirs,  of  the  beauty  of 
the  ChAteau  de  Soldana,  the  grand  domain  of  Belle 
d'Or;  of  the  large  revenue  that  had  been  theirs;  how 
they  were  on  the  full  tide  of  prosperity,  and  suddenly  the 
sky  darkened  and  a  tempest  raged  over  the  land,  one 
of  those  terrible  waves  of  revolution  that  seem  to  touch 
no  other  land,  swept  over  France. 

Everything  was  overthrown ;  amongst  hundreds  of 
other  noble  and  wealthy  families  whose  estates  were 
confiscated,  and  who  were  driven  into  exile,  were  the 
Soldanas;  why  it  was  so  does  not  matter  to  this  story. 
They  were  driven  ruthlessly  from  the  country,  forbidden 
to  return  under  pain  of  imprisonment,  sent  penniless  into 
a  strange  land.  Mme.  la  Coratesse  told  the  whole  story ; 
how  they  had  struggled  through  long  years  of  most 
bitter  poverty ;  how  she,  forbidden  as  she  was  to  enter 
the  kingdom,  had  returned  in  disguise,  for  she  would  far 
rather  have  died  than  have  lived  on  in  that  state ;  and 
how  her  only  son  —  Leon  de  Soldana  —  was  living  in  an 
English  country  town  getting  his  living  by  teaching 
French.  And  he  was  graceful,  handsome,  clever,  brave, 
gallant  as  a  young  prince ;  and  he,  with  all  the  gifts  and 
graces  of  his  family  upon  him,  with  a  heart  full  of 
passionate  pride  and  ambition,  longing  to  serve  France, 
longing  to  live  as  his  ancestors  had  done  before  him 
—  there  he  was  eating  his  heart  away  in  the  far-off 
English  town. 

Then  madame's  fine,  fierce  declamation  died  away  and 
tears  of  emotion  rained  down  her  face.  In  the  eyes  of 
the  empress  tears  were  shining  too.  Did  she  see  a  time 
when  a  brave  and  gallant  young  prince  should  live  in 
exile  while  his  heart  was  consumed  with  a  passionate 
desire  to  serve  France  ? 

"  And  I,"  she  said,  gently,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you, 
Madame  de  Soldana? " 

"  Your  majesty  could  do  everything,"  she  replied. 
"It  was  well  known  that  when  my  Leon's  grandfather 
was  banished  from  France,  he  had  done  no  wrong  —  it 
was  party  persecution.  A  petition  was  made  to  King 
X^oaiB  Philippe  to  restore  the  estate  of  which  he  had  been 


100  THE   BKLLB   OF  LYNlt. 

BO  unjustly  deprived :  but  from  reasons  I  know  not  of, 
that  petition  failed.  Once  more,"  continued  the  mad- 
ame,  "  the  friends  of  my  family  have  taken  np  what 
seems  to  be  almost  a  lost  cause.  Once  more  a  petition  is 
to  be  laid  before  the  emperor,  begging  that,  in  his  justice 
and  his  generosity,  he  will  restore  to  the  ancient  family 
of  the  De  Soldanas  the  estates  that  were  so  unjustly 
taken  from  them. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  the  empress,  kindly. 

"  Ah  I  your  majesty,"  cried  madam,  "  it  will  rest  with 
you  !  It  is  for  that  I  am  here." 

"  How  can  it  rest  with  me  ? "  said  the  empress.  "  I 
will  do  anything  that  lies  in  my  power." 

The  dark,  proud  eyes  were  fixed  on  that  beautiful  face. 

"  Forgive  me,  your  majesty,"  she  continued,  "  if  I  pre- 
sume ;  but  they  say  here  in  France  that  —  that  your 
majesty  has  great  influence  with  the  emperor.  Will  your 
majesty  use  it  for  me  ?  — for  my  son  ?  —  for  the  last  of  a 
grand  old  race  pining  in  exile  ?  You  will  speak  for  me  ? " 

The  empress  smiled. 

"  If  you  think  it  will  be  of  any  use,  I  will  do  so  with 
pleasure,  madam,"  she  said.  "  But  are  not  these  matters 
generally  left  to  the  ministers  of  the  emperor  ?  " 

"  I  believe  they  are,  your  majesty,"  replied  the  quick- 
witted woman,  "  and  that  is  why  they  so  frequently  fail. 
I  have  travelled  far  to  lay  my  petition  before  your  majes- 
ty. A  few  words  from  you  will  make  it  safe — quite  safe.'"' 

"  I  will  speak  thos»  words,"  said  the  empress,  kindly, 
"  and  I  will  add  to  them  what  I  think  will  be  useful. ''       ., 

"I  pray  Heaven  to  bless  your  majesty,  and  send  you' 
prosperity  to  the  end  of  your  days ! "  cried  Mme,  de 
Soldana. 

With  the  tact  and  kindness  always  to  be  observed  in 
her,  the  empress  asked  many  questions  about  this  son.  It 
was  a  topic  she  enjoyed  and  the  greatful,  happy  mother 
was  only  too  well  pleased  to  speak  of  him. 

"  If  my  son  should  return  to  France,"  said  Mme.  de 
Soldana,  "your  majesty  will  have  no  more  faithful 
subject." 

''I  need  them,"  said  the  beautiful  empress,  with  a 


THE  BELLK   OF   LYNN.  101 

smile.  "  Of  course,  madame,"  she  continued,  "  as  your 
son  is  so  young,  he  is  not  married  ?  " 

Mine,  de  Soldana  answered : 

"  No,  your  majesty,  he  is  not  married." 

A  few  more  kindly  words,  and  the  proudest  woman  in 
France  passed  from  the  presence  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  gentle. 

The  empress  remained  alone  for  some  few  minutes, 
thinking  of  the  widow's  son  who  was  in  exile,  her  heart 
warm  with  love  of  her  own  boy,  who  bore  his  father  s 
name ;  and  then  she  rejoined  the  little  group  of  ladies. 
She  spoke  to  them  of  the  Soldana  family.  They  were 
enthusiastic  in  their  favor.  "  A  noble  family,"  "  A  grand 
old  race,"  "  Every  one  would  be  glad  to  see  them  re- 
stored ; "  and  the  empress  began  to  think  in  what  words 
she  should  best  influence  her  imperial  husband. 

While  Mme.  de  Soldana,  her  proud  face  flushed  with 
emotion,  hastened  to  where  she  could  be  alone. 

"  Oh,  Heaven,"  she  cried,  with  upraised  face  and  up- 
raised hands,  "  give  back  to  us  our  rights  —  that  which 
wicked  men  have  stolen  from  us  —  give  back  to  us  our 
rights.  I  dare  not  think  of  it,"  she  cried  to  herself 
— "  to  see  my  son  at  Soldana,  at  Belle  d'Or.  My  son, 
than  whom  no  prince  is  more  brave  and  true.  My  son 
—  my  son  —  Comte  de  Soldana.  Then,  by  the  mercy  of 
Heaven,  he  will  not  be  the  last  of  the  Soldanas;  the 
old  race  will  live  on."  Such  fierce  exultation,  such 
triumph,  were  never  surely  seen  on  any  human  face.  My 
son  shall  marry  the  noblest  lady  in  the  land,  he  shall 
reach  higher  than  any  Soldana  before  him  has  done.  My 
son !     My  son  ! " 

Then  she  tried  to  calm  her  vehement  emotion.  It 
could  not  be  just  yet  —  she  must  wait  some  short  time,  at 
least.  So  great  a  work  could  not  be  done  in  a  day,  but 
she  had  the  empress'  promise,  and  on  that  she  would  rest 
her  heart — rest  her  heart. 


102  TH£   BELLS  OF   LYlOb 


CHAPTEB  XX. 

In  those  days  fair  France  knew  many  vicissilmdes. 
The  emperor  was  just  and  generous,  when  it  was  possible 
to  do  so ,  nothing  pleased  him  more  than  to  set  a  wrong 
right,  to  restore  to  friends,  home  and  country  those  who 
liad  been  unjustly  deprived  of  all.  In  many  instances  he 
had  granted  the  petitions  laid  before  him ;  he  had  re- 
stored from  exile  and  relieved  from  poverty  the  heads  of 
many  noble  houses ;  still,  the  friends  of  the  Soldanas  felt 

freat  anxiety  before  the  affair  was  laid  before  his  majesty, 
[e  might  refuse ;  he  might  say  there  had  been  too  many 
restorations,  and  that  some  amongst  those  to  whom  he 
had  given  honor  and  wealth  had  not  been  his  friends ;  he 
might  say  that  he  had  done  enough  ;  he  might,  if  he  so 
chose,  bring  forward  a  hundred  reasons  why  that  par- 
ticular petition  should  not  be  granted,  so  that  they 
hesitated  and  were  anxious;  hence  the  number  of  letters 
that  went  to  Sweetbrier  Cottage.  Sometimes  they  m  ere 
full  of  hope,  and  repeated  something  the  emperor  had 
said  which  augured  well  for  their  suite ;  again,  there  was 
bad  news,  something  had  been  said  which  dampened 
their  hopes.  Leon  suffered  terribly  during  that  time ;  he 
would  not  say  one  word  to  his  beautiful  young  wife  about 
the  matter  then ;  if  it  were  all  a  disappointment,  if  it 
ended  in  nothing,  then  she  would  not  suffer  what  he  had 
suffered  —  tortures  of  suspense;  if  it  ended  well  and 
happily,  so  much  the  better  for  him ;  he  should  have  t4i« 
delight  of  surprising  her,  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  her 
surpiise. 

And  what  would  the  angry  miller  say  then,  when  hi8 
daughter  would  be  known  as  the  Countess  de  Soldana  ? 

"  But  I  shall  forgive  him,"  said  the  young  heir  to  him- 
self. "  I  shall  forgive  him.  If  all  my  day-dreams  come 
true,  and  the  petition  is  granted,  I  may  even  invite  him 
to  Belle  d'Or,  and  show  him  that  Frenchmen  know  how 
to  live  as  well  as  Englishmen." 

But  no  word  did  he  say  to  Lima.    He  did  not  want  to 


THB  BELLB   OP  LTIW.  103 

shadow  her  face  with  the  great  deep  thoughts  that  surged 
through  his  own  heart.  He  did  not  want  her  to  go 
through  the  fears  and  hopes  that  never  left  him.  Time 
enougii  to  tell  her  when  he  should  know  for  certain  him- 
eelf. 

Then  came  a  hurried  letter  from  his  mother,  bidding 
him  hasten  to  Paris,  for  she  herself  was  about  to  solicit 
an  interview  with  the  empress,  and  it  was  as  well  that  he 
should  be  at  hand.  From  that  interview  Mme.  de  Sol- 
dana  came  flushed  with  triumph  —  she  felt  sure  of  suc- 
cess. 

The  empress  was  interested,  the  battle  was  won.  She 
would  have  been  more  delighted  still  had  she  known 
what  took  place  between  the  illustrious  pair.  The  em- 
press lost  no  time  in  redeeming  her  promise ;  she  watched 
the  face  of  her  royal  husband  to  see  when  would  be  the 
most  auspicious  time.  When  she  saw  his  face  thoughtful 
and  grave,  she  knew  the  subject  would  be  inopportune. 
But  there  came  a  day  when  the  emperor  sought  the  em- 
press in  her  own  boudoir,  to  show  her  some  superb 
t)hotograph8  that  had  just  arrived  from  England.  He 
ingered  in  that  magnificent  room.  If  ever  man  could 
forget  the  cares  of  state,  the  weight  of  an  empire,  the 
burden  of  a  crown,  in  looking  at  a  beautiful  face,  h© 
must  have  forgotten  it  in  looking  at  hers.  There  was  a 
Bmile  on  his  lips  and  in  his  eyes. 

Just  at  the  moment  when  the  empress  was  about  to 
present  her  petition,  the  Prince  Imperial  entered  the 
room.  He  had  come  to  ask  some  favor  of  his  mother, 
the  empress.  The  boy  would  have  withdrawn  when  he 
saw  that  his  imperial  parents  were  talking,  but  the 
emperor,  who  had  a  passionate  love  for  his  son,  bade  him 
enter. 

Then  followed  one  of  those  happy  intervals  that  come 
at  times  even  in  the  troubled  lives  of  sovereigns.  Father, 
mother,  and  child  talked  together  as  though  there  were 
no  state  affairs,  no  "  tears  on  the  diadem."  The  boy's 
bright  face  and  quick,  clear  speech  delighted  the  em- 
peror. 

The  three  so  soon  to  be  parted  ;  the  thoughtful,  noble 
father ;  the  beantif ul,  gracious  mother ;  the  bright,  clever 


104  THE   BELLE   OP   LYNN. 

child ;  the  shadow  of  exile  and  death  hung  over  them, 
but  they  were  quite  unconscious  of  it. 

When  the  Prince  Imperial  had  made  his  request  and 
the  empress  had  granted  it,  the  boy  withdrew.  The 
emperor  looked  after  him  with  eyes  that  were  full  of 
Jove  and  pride. 

"  If  anything  happened  to  him,"  said  the  empress, 
"  how  it  would  overshadow  our  lives." 

"  Nothing  will  happen  to  him,  I  trust,"  said  the  em- 
peror ;  "  he  is  the  hope  of  France." 

"  Every  house  has  its  hope,"  said  the  empress  gently. 
"  Sire,  I  know  another  mother,  who,  like  me,  has  one 
eon,  the  last  of  his  race,  the  only  hope  of  a  noble  house, 
and  he  is  in  exile — a  son,  perhaps,  like  ours." 

"  She  has  been  to  me,  this  noble  unhappy  woman,  and 
asked  me  to  plead  with  yon,  sire,  that  when  the  petition 
for  his  restoration  is  presented,  you  will  take  a  merciful 
view  of  it. 

"  She  made  me  —  I  cannot  tell  why —  think  of  myself ; 
and  her  son  —  I  know  not  why  —  makes  me  think  of  my 
Bon." 

"  I  hardly  see  the  comparison,"  said  the  emperor,  with 
a  smile.  "  You  are  the  most  beautiful  empress  in  Europe, 
and  our  son  is  the  Prince  Imperial  of  France." 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  the  empress,  half  sadly,  "  why  it 
is  so.  I  should  feel  happy  and  relieved  if  you  could  i*e- 
etore  this  widow  and  her  son  to  their  i-ights." 

The  emperor  did  not  see  then  the  time  so  soon  coming 
when  the  beautiful  imperial  woman  who  shared  his  digni- 
ties would  be  a  widow  and  an  exile,  and  the  son  whom 
he  loved  with  pride  and  tenderness  be  slain  by  a  mean 
foe  iu  a  distant  land;  no  faint  shadow  of  such  a  future 
ever  came  to  him,  yet  he,  like  the  empress,  felt  a  strange 
attraction  to  the  widowed  mother  and  exiled  son. 

"  Of  course  the  boy  is  young?  "  said  the  emperor. 

"Nearly  twenty,  I  understand,"  replied  the  empress. 

"  And  not  married  yet  ?  "  continued  the  emperor. 

The  empress  smiled  as  she  remembered  madame's  face 
when  she  asked  the  question. 

"  Certainly  —  not  married,"  she  replied.  "  You  wiH 
think  favorably  of  it,  sire  ?  " 


THE  BELLE  OP  LYNN.  106 

"  I  will  not  forget  when  the  petition  comes  before  me 
on  which  side  your  wishes  lie,"  he  said,  gallantly,  and 
then  the  beautiful  empress  knew  that  her  cause  was  won. 

In  the  small  salon  of  a  small  house  in  the  Eue  de 
Sevres,  mother  and  son  sat  together,  talking  eagerly. 
The  face  of  Mme.  de  Soldana  was  wonderful  to  see  —  so 
proud,  so  determined,  yet  so  terribly  worn  and  anxious. 
She  could  not  rest.  She  sat  down,  then  rising  hastily, 
pushed  the  chair  impatiently  away,  walking  with  quick 
footsteps  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  To-morrow,  to-morrow ;  think  of  it,  Leon.  How 
shall  I  wait,  how  shall  I  live  ?  " 

"  You  must  control  yourself,  mother,"  said  the  young 
count.     "  You  will  make  yourself  ill." 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said.  "  Only  think  of  it,  Leon.  I 
have  lived  in  poverty  all  my  life,  and  in  exile  during  the 
greater  part  of  it,  and  now  the  gates  of  Paradise  are 
opening  to  me;  I,  who  have  never  had  a  roof  of  my 
own ;  I,  who  have  never  lived  in  anything  but  the 
smallest  and  cheapest  of  cottages,  may  soon  be  mistress 
of  the  chdteau,  or  of  Belle  d'Or." 

When  his  mother  uttered  those  words,  Leon  suddenly 
remembered  the  beautiful  young  wife  at  home,  she  who 
had  called  herself  Lima  of  the  lime  trees;  surely  she 
would  be  mistress  of  his  home,  and  not  his  mother. 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  such  quick,  vivid  surprise,  that 
madame  paused  in  her  rapid  walk. 

"  What  my  son  ? "  she  asked  ;  but  suddenly  there  came 
in  his  mind  a  conviction  of  how  much  pain  it  would  give 
her,  how  completely  it  would  spoil  her  triumph,  suppos- 
ing that  triumph  to  be  won.  No  he  would  not  tell  her 
just  yet  that  his  wife,  not  his  mother^  should  be  mistress 
of  his  home. 

If  there  were  no  triumph,  if  he  must  return  to  his 
teaching,  and  she  go  back  to  her  abode,  then  there  would 
be  no  need  to  tell  her,  it  would  but  add  to  her  pain. 
Already  he  had  begun  to  perceive  that  between  a  woman 
of  his  mother's  class — proud,  patrician  and  imperial — and 
his  beautiful  young  Lima,  there  was  a  difference  and  a 
distaiice  that  nothing  could  bridge. 

He  saw  it  with  dismaj  that  no  words  could  express ; 


106  THE  BELLB   OF  LTNW. 

but  just  at  this  juncture  there  was  no  time  even  for 
thinking  of  it.  He  must  arrange  everything  after  the 
great  event ;  everything  must  give  way  to  it. 

"  Oh,  Leon,  Leon !  "  cried  madame,  with  flaming  eyes, 
"  only  think  if  I  have  my  title,  Madame  la  Comtesse  de 
Soldana.  I  have  lived  for  it,  prayed  for  it,  shed  bitter 
tears  for  it ;  my  heart  has  been  consumed  with  passionate 
longing  for  it,  and  now  the  cup  is  at  my  lips.  Oli, 
Heaven,  most  merciful,  grant  that  it  may  not  be  dashed 
away ! " 

She  grew  calmer  after  a  few  minutss.     Going  to  her 
eon,  she  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 
•  "  Leon,"  she  said,  gravely,  "if  we  were  to  lose  now, 
it  would  kill  me.     I  should  die." 

He  was  almost  afraid  of  her,  this  bright,  princely 
young  man;  afraid  of  her  proud  face,  that  seemed  to 
have  nothing  in  it  but  pride ;  of  her  eyes,  that  flashed 
fire ;  of  her  intense  passionate  determination ;  of  her 
fearless  manner. 

"  She  is  like  the  English  Queen  Elizabeth,"  he  said 
to  himself.  He  had  not  been  long  with  her  before  he 
felt  that  her  nature  was  prouder,  more  resolute,  more 
determined,  more  obstinate  than  his  own — before  he  felt 
that  she  was  gaining  an  ascendancy  over  him,  and  that 
ence  gained,  it  could  never  be  lost. 

"  To-morrow  brings  life  or  death  to  me,"  said  madame. 
"  To-morrow  I  shall  either  remain  the  poverty-stricken 
homeless  exile  that  I  am  now,  or  shall  I  be  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  Soldana.  Oh,  Leon,  and  you  can  look  com- 
posed ! " 

"  I  am  not  composed,  mother,"  he  answered,  gently. 
-'  I  feel  it  just  as  much  as  you  do ;  it  means  as  much  to 
me,  but  I  must  meet  the  blow  if  it  falls." 

"  I  could  not,  I  could  not,"  cried  madame.  "  I  shall 
die  mad  if  he  refuses,  but  Heaven  would  not  be  so  cruel 
as  to  give  us  this  gleam,  this  shining  gleam,  of  magnifi- 
cent hope  and  then  take  it  from  us.  Heaven  itself  could 
not  be  so  cruel,  Leon.  Tell  me  what  you  think.  Do 
you  feel  that  we  shall  be  restored  to  our  own  again,  or 


THE  BELLK  OF   LTNH.  107 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  petition  laid  before  the  emperor  for  the  restora- 
tion of  Leon  Comte  be  Soldana  to  his  country,  his  estate, 
his  revenues,  was  well  supported.  Most  of  the  ministers 
signed  it;  they  were  always  pleased  when  their  royal 
master  performed  an  act  of  munificence,  which,  while  it 
added  to  his  dignity  and  honor,  did  not  detract  from 
their  gains.  Many  of  the  heads  of  the  old  royalist 
families  had  signed  it,  together  with  some  of  the  most 
eminent  men  in  France,  and  the  emperor  thought  deeply 
over  it. 

He  had  but  to  say  the  word,  and  the  ChAteau  de 
Soldana,  Bell  d'Or,  and  the  L'Hotel  d'Or,  with  their  rich 
revenues,  would  be  given  back  to  the  heir ;  from  a  poor 
exile  he  would  become  a  rich  nobleman  and  a  friend  to 
the  empire,  and  the  emperor  was  wise  enough  to  know 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  have  too  many  friends. 

He  thought  and  pondered  over  the  matter  for  some 
little  time. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  he  should  refuse. 
Evidently  the  man  who  was  banished  had  done  nothing 
more  criminal  than  offend  against  the  prejudices  of  the 
then  existing  government.  It  was  only  just  that  what 
had  been  taken  from  him  should  be  given  back  to  his 
heirs  and  successors. 

An  emperor's  nod  —  an  emperor's  "  Yes  I  "  How 
much  depended  on  it !  If  the  emperor  could  have  seen 
behind  the  scenes — if  he  could  have  beheld  the  handsome 
and  gallanl  young  count,  his  face  pallid  with  emotion,  his 
eyes  shadowed  with  anxiety,  or  the  proud,  imperious 
woman,  whose  suspense  was  like  a  flame,  burning  her 
heart  and  soul  away,  he  would  have  been  touched.  He 
decided,  after  having  most  carefully  discussed  the  matter, 
that  he  would  grant  the  petition  ;  that  the  young  lord  of 
Soldana  should  be  restored  to  his  country,  his  titles,  his 
estates,  and  his  revenues ;  that  he  should  be  received  at 
court  with  all  proper  dignity  and  respect.     The  ministeiB 


108  TB«  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

highly  applauded  his  decision.  The  emperor  felt  that  he 
had  done  a  just  and  generous  deed.  He  hastened  to  tell 
the  empress,  who  was  as  pleased  as  himself. 

"  You  will  have  the  widow  and  her  son,  the  young 
count,  at  court  soon,"  he  ssdd,  "  and  you  must  be  extra 
kind  to  them,  to  atone,  as  far  as  possible,  for  all  they 
have  suffered." 

"  The  young  count  will  be  quite  a  prot6g6  of  mine," 
said  the  beautiful  empress,  and  in  her  neart  she  resolved 
to  bring  him  forward  as  much  as  was  possible. 

The  morrow  had  dawned  for  the  two  who  waited  in 
such  a  dire  agony  of  suspense.  Madame's  face  was 
white  and  drawn  as  pain  and  age  could  never  have 
drawn  it. 

"  To-day,  to-day !  "  she  biased  rather  than  spoke  —  "  to- 
day brings  life  or  death!" 

They  Knew  that  the  petition  was  to  be  presented  at 
noon,  when  the  emperor  was  in  the  audience-chamber, 
and  noon  had  long  passed. 

"  Mother,"  cried  Leon,  "  let  us  go  out  I  Let  us  go 
into  the  street — into  the  fresh  air  —  anywhere !  I  cannot 
bear  this  room — I  am  stifled !  " 

"  So  am  1 1 "  cried  madame ;  "  but  I  will  not  leave ! 
If  there  be  any  message  it  will  be  sent  here,  and  I  should 
not  like  to  be  absent. 

Two  more  weary  hours,  still  no  messenger.  Madame's 
face  had  grown  ghastly  during  this  terrible  watch ;  then, 
at  last,  the  messenger  came. 

"  The  emperor  has  granted  the  petition,  praying  that 
the  Count  de  Soldana  might  return  to  France  and  take 
possession  of  that  which  should  have  been  his  father's 
inheritance." 

There  were  numberless  legal  formalities  to  be  carried 
out ;  but  they  do  not  belong  to  the  story.  The  one  great 
fact  remained,  the  Count  de  Soldana  held  his  own,  never 
to  lose  it  again. 

Madame  ^ave  one  cry.     She  was  a  woman  of  iron 
nerves  and  iron  will,  but  when  she  heard  that  message 
she  fell,  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  her  life,  into  a 
dead  swoon. 
;    When  she  recovered  she  was  lying  on  a  bard  coach  in 


THE  BELLE   OP   LTNIT.  109 

the  humble  little  salon,  and  her  son  knelt  weeping  by  her 
eide. 

"  Is  it  true  ?  "  she  whispered  —  "  true  that  we  have 
gained  all  ? " 

"  All,  mother,"  he  said.  "  The  emperor  has  been  most 
kind.  I  wish  that  it  had  happened  while  my  father 
lived." 

"  So  do  I,"  she  said  ;  "  but  Leon,  you,  my  son,  will  do 
for  me  all  that  he  would  have  done.  I  have  longed  so 
eagerly  all  my  life  for  power  and  pleasure  and  rule. 
Now  all  can  be  mine.  I  did  not  think  I  cared  so  much. 
See,  Leon  how  my  hands  tremble,  and  I  cannot  see ;  there 
is  a  great  mist  over  my  eyes.  It  has  shaken  me  terribly, 
jet  I  stand  in  my  own  right  at  last." 

It  was  strange  that,  in  spite  of  her  devotion  to  her  son, 
of  her  motherly  instinct,  her  first  thought  now  was  for 
herself.  She  thought  more  of  the  fact  that  she  was  to  be 
mistress  of  Belle  d'Or  than  that  he  would  be  master. 
She  thought  more  of  the  fact  that  she  was  to  be  wealthy 
and  powerful  than  that  he  was  to  be  the  same.  Perhaps 
long,  grinding  years  of  poverty  and  exile  had  something 
to  do  with  it. 

"  You  must  try  and  quiet  yourself,  mother,"  said  the 
young  count.  "  You  will  have  a  fever  if  you  are  not 
more  careful." 

"  I  am  well  now,  Leon,"  she  said.  "  It  was  the  suspense 
that  tried  me." 

He  was  very  gentle,  very  kindly  with  her,  but  all  the 
time  he  knelt  by  her  side  he  was  thinking  of  his  wife. 
What  news  for  her — Lima,  Countess  de  Soldana — why,  it 
was  Hke  a  romance,  and  what  a  beautiful,  what  a  peerless 
countess  she  would  make.  It  was  said  that  some  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  in  Europe  were  to  be  found  in  the 
court  of  the  Tuileries,  but  she  would  outshine  them  all. 
He  must  not  tell  her  just  yet,  not  until  everything  was 
settled  and  arranged  with  his  mother.  The  eventful  day 
closed  at  last,  but  not  before  Madame  la  Comtesse  had 
written  a  letter  of  most  grateful  thanks  to  the  beautiful 
and  gentle  empress. 

Long  days  and  weeks  passed.  The  young  count  wrote 
to  the  principal  of  the  college,  saying  that  most  jmportK 


110  THE  BELLE   OP  LTNH. 

ant  business  detained  him  in  France,  and  lie  should  not 
be  able  to  return  to  resume  his  teaching  at  the  college, 
but  he  did  not  say  what  the  business  was. 

He  wrote  often  to  his  wife,  always  the  same  things : 
he  had  important  business  on  hand,  which  he  could  not 
leave,  but  he  would  hasten  back  to  her  as  soon  as  possible. 

He  said  no  word  to  her,  either,  of  what  his  business 
was ,  he  intended  when  all  was  settled  and  arranged  to 
return  and  bring  her  back  to  France  —  then  for  the  glori- 
ous surprise,  and  the  delight  of  seeing  Lima  a  countess. 

He  sent  her  money,  not  too  much,  unless  her  suspicions 
should  be  aroused,  but  enough  to  keep  her  in  comfort,  if 
not  more.  She  wondered  greatly  over  it,  but  all  the  same 
was  glad  to  receive  it. 

The  day  came — it  was  spring  then,  and  the  lOvely  land 
of  France  was  half  buried  in  sweet  blue  violets  —  when 
mother  and  son  took  possession  of  the  grand  old  chateau 
of  the  Soldanas ;  a  magnificent  building  full  of  historical 
interest  and  natural  beauties ;  their  reception  was  a  quiet 
one,  but  the  people  were  none  the  less  pleased  to  see  the 
old  race  restored. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  was  a  changed  woman.  She  had 
never  been  beautiful,  but  youth  and  happiness  had  come 
back  to  her.  Her  proud  face  was  softened,  her  manner 
was  more  gracious  and  tender. 

There  at  the  chAteau  her  son  seemed  to  take  his  right 
place,  although  his  delight  in  seeing  her  rule  was  so  great 
to  him  that  he  never  in  the  least  degree  interfered 
with  it 

He  could  hardly  realize  to  himself  how  completely  in 
a  few  days,  even,  he  had  fallen  into  the  habits  of  le 
arand  seigneur.  He  might  have  lived  at  the  chateau  all 
his  life,  he  fell  so  soon  into  the  ways  and  fashions  of  it. 
There  had  been  no  grand  public  reception  when  the 
young  count  and  his  mother  took  possession  of  their 
own ;  but  as  soon  as  they  had  settled  their  visitors  flocked 
in,  all  full  of  congratulations ;  delighted  to  see  the  Sol- 
danas back  once  more  on  their  own  territory,  delighted 
to  welcome  in  their  midst  the  stately,  patrician  lady, 
who,  if  she  were  not  beautiful,  had  a  statuesque  grace  of 
her  own  even  more  imposing  than  beauty,  and  the  young 


THE  BELLE  OP  LTim.  Ill 

heir  who  was  handsome  and  gallant  as  a  young  prince. 
Every  one  who  saw  him  —  men,  women,  and  children  — 
loved  him  ;  his  handsome,  open  face,  his  bright  eyes  and 
fair  hair,  his  stalwari;  figure,  that  with  the  strength  of  a 
soldier  united  the  ease  and  grace  of  a  prince ;  every  one 
loved  him,  women  and  children  trusted  him,  he  very 
soon  became  a  popular  favorite.  He  took  back  with  him 
to  that  fair  land  of  France  all  the  good  results  of  English 
training.  He  liked  all  athletic  sports  ;  he  could  ride  as 
few  men  could ;  he  was  a  sure  marksman,  an  expert 
angler,  and  though  he  was  younger  than  most  of  his 
neighbors,  they  looked  up  to  him  with  a  degree  of  re- 
spect and  deference  that  was  at  least  unusual.  The  ladies 
admired  him  even  more  enthusiastically;  his  fair  frank 
face  won  them  completely. 

They  said  that  in  features  he  resembled  Henry  IV.  of 
France.  His  mother  rejoiced  in  the  comeliness  and  grand 
physical  beauty  of  her  son. 

Comte  de  Soldana  had  wished  at  first  to  go  to  Paris, 
but  his  mother  objected.  She  seemed  to  retain  some 
fear  of  the  great  city,  where  its  rulers  could  take  a 
fortune  from  a  man  and  send  him  penniless  from 
country  and  home. 

"  We  shall  be  safer  in  Belle  d'Or,  Leon,"  she  said, 
with  a  shudder,  "  much  safer.  People  will  not  think  so 
much  about  us  if  we  live  at  Belle  d'Or  quietly  for  a 
time.  If  we  are  prominent  objects  in  Parisian  society, 
who  can  tell  what  may  happen  ? " 

And  though  he  laughed  at  her  fears,  he  felt  that  they 
were  real,  and  respected  them. 

So  to  please  his  mother,  whom  he  feared  as  well  as 
loved,  the  young  count  consented  to  remain  some  time  at 
Belltt  d'Or. 


119  THS  BSLLS  OF  LTNlT. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

Thb  beautiful  ch&teau  of  Belle  d'Or  was  so  called 

from  the  profusion  of  yellow  flowers  that  grew  around 
and  near  it.  From  the  green  landscape  around,  it  shone 
out  almost  like  a  golden  plantation.  In  the  early  spring 
there  were  thousands  of  graceful  daffodils  and  lenton 
lilies,  yellow  crocuses,  tulips  of  every  shade,  from  palest 
to  ricnest  amber,  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses  whose  heads 
seemed  heavy  with  their  own  beauty,  golden  amaranths 
and  asphodel.  It  seemed  as  though  every  yellow  flower 
that  blossomed  and  bloomed  found  a  home  tnere. 

It  had  been  the  tradition  of  the  house  for  many 
generations  that  golden-hued  flowers  should  be  cultivated 
at  Belle  d'Or,  and  there  was  no  more  beautiful  sight  in 
the  wide  world  than  to  see  the  golden  gleam  of  flowers 
everywhere,  when  the  sun  shone  on  them,  bringing  out 
all  their  brightness  and  sweetness.  In  all  fair  France 
there  was  no  fairer  home  than  this  of  the  Soldanas.  The 
chateau  itself  was  a  large,  picturesque  buildiug,  all  of 
white  stone,  with  the  towers  and  turrets  peculiar  to  the 
architecture  of  French  ch4teaus.  It  was  embowered  in 
trees;  a  magnificent  orangery  added  to  its  attractions, 
a  beautiful  river  added  to  its  beauty. 

The  interior  of  the  chAteau  was  magnificent.  All  that 
was  of  value  —  the  pictures,  statues,  works  of  art,  the 
buhl,  the  marquetry,  the  vases  of  jasper  and  onyx  —  were 
all  just  as  the  count  who  had  died  in  exile  left  them. 
The  young  count,  Leon,  refurnished  the  whole  place 
with  the  utmost  luxury  and  magnificence.  His  mother 
was  enchanted ;  her  boudoir  was  hung  with  superb  amber 
velvet,  and  everything  to  match.  There  was  no  more 
beautiful  or  luxurious  room,  even  in  the  royal  palaces  of 
the  Tuileries  or  Versailles  than  this,  and  the  delight  of 
Madame  la  Oomtesse  when  she  saw  it  was  great  indeed. 

"  It  is  my  dream  realized,"  she  said  to  her  son,  with  a 
sigh  of  unutterable  content ;  and  he  thought  to  himself 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  11^ 

that  he  conld  not  tell  her  Just  then  how  brief  her  reign 
must  be;  she  was  so  unutterably  happy,  and  he  knew 
that  when  her  rule  ceased,  her  happiness  would  end  with 
it 

He  knew  also  that  he  was  a  coward  in  delaying  to  tell 
his  proud  patrician  mother  that  he  was  married  to  an 
English  girl  of  lowly  birth.  He  would  have  headed  a 
tegiment  and  would  have  dashed,  sword  in  hand,  througt 
the  serried  ranks  of  the  foe ;  he  knew  no  fear,  but  lif. 
shrunk  from  looking  in  that  proud,  statuesque  face  and 
telling  her  that  he  was  married.  Let  her  be  happy  in 
her  own  fashion  for  a  short  time !  Then  he  would  bring 
his  beautiful  English  wife  home ;  but  he  never  deceived 
himself ;  he  never  said  to  himself  that  his  mother  would 
in  time  love  his  wife  —  he  knew  already  that  could  never 
be:  the  nature  of  both  di£Eered  so  essentially,  it  could 
never  be. 

He  looked  at  her  sometimes,  wondering  in  what  words 
ne  should  tell  her  —  wondering  almost  that  he  ever  dared 
to  marry,  realizing  at  last  how  grave  and  serious  was  the 
step  he  had  taken. 

He  had  not  given  one  thought  to  its  graver  aspect. 
He  had  fallen  madly  in  love  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Soldanas.  He  had  married  the  girl  he  loved,  and 
thought  no  more  about  it.  Now  the  consequences  of 
that  marriage  looked  him  in  the  face.  He  did  think 
once  or  twice  that  if  he  had  known  of  what  was  to 
happen,  he  would  have  deferred  his  marriage  — not  that 
he  loved  Lima  less,  but  that  he  could  see  so  plainly  that 
what  was  fitting  for  the  poor  French  refugee,  the  poor 
teacher,  was  out  of  place  with  the  lord  of  Belle  d'Or. 

Still  he  thought  with  love  and  longing  of  his  beautiful 
young  wife.  He  satisfied  his  heart  and  his  conscience  by 
writing  to  her  continually,  by  sending  her  money,  by 
sending  her  little  presents,  always  saying  that  he  was 
hurrying  over  his  business  and  would  return  as  soon  as  it 
ended.  He  bade  her  be  of  good  cheer  and  keep  a  light 
heart,  for  he  should  be  home  soon,  and  then  they  would 
never  be  parted  more. 

She  waited  for  him  in  sorrow  and  tears^  while  his  life 


114  THE  BBLLS  01"  LTIW. 

was  so  full  of  excitement,  of  gayety,  and  pleasure,  be 
hardly  knew  how  the  days  passed  —  they  seemed  to  fly. 

As  time  wore  on  the  fears  of  Madame  la  Comtesse 
began  to  abate.  At  first  every  unusual  sound  startled 
her.  She  confessed  long  afterward  to  Leon  that  she  had 
never  for  many  long  weeks  been  free  from  the  haunting 
dread  that  some  messenger  would  come  armed  with 
authority  to  dispossess  them  again.  She  could  not  realize 
that  they  were  living  in  perfect  and  absolute  security, 
and  that  exile  and  poverty  could  touch  them  never  more. 
She  told  him  afterward  what  she  had  suffered,  but  she 
spoke  no  word  at  the  time. 

After  a  few  weeks  they  were  both  qniet  at  home,  and 
the  black,  bitter  past  was  forgotten. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  gave  a  grand  f^te,  which  es- 
tablished her  popularity  forever,  and  the  young  count 
watched  his  mother  in  wonder.  She  had  spent  the 
greater  part  of  her  life  in  exile,  and  amongst  poor 
people,  yet,  through  hereditary  instinct,  she  had  the  man- 
ner of  a  queen.  Her  grace,  her  courtesy,  were  something 
wonderful. 

"  Poor  mother  1  "  sighed  the  young  count  to  himself ; 
"how  she  must  have  suffered  all  these  years;  she  is 
essentially  one  of  those  women  born  to  rule;  she  findi 
her  home  and  her  happiness  in  society." 

Madame  la  Comtesse  made  a  great  impression  on  her 
guests  that  evening ;  her  tall,  stately  figure  was  draped  in 
richest  amber  velvet,  shaded  by  finest  point  lace,  and  she 
wore  a  parure  of  magnificent  diamonds. 

She  looked,  moved,  and  spoke  like  a  queen ;  her  ges- 
tures  were  superb ;  her  voice  was  low  and  clear  as  a  bell ; 
her  intonation  marvellously  clear  and  refined ;  her  face, 
though  not  beautiful,  had  the  dignified  repose  that  goes 
always  with  statuesque  features.  Her  son  watclied  her, 
with  infinite  pride  and  tenderness ;  the  poor  mother,  with 
all  these  fine,  high-bred  instincts  hidden  in  her  heart  all 
these  years;  with  more  fear  and  dread  than  ever,  he 
thought  of  the  time  when  the  miller's  lovely  daughter 
must  take  the  place  of  his  queenly  mother. 

This  was  the  first  of  a  brilliant  series  of  fetes  given  at 
Belle  d'Or;  then  return  ietea  were  given,  and  for  a  few 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN.  115 

weeks  Madame  la  Comtesse  and  ner  son  lived  in  the  very 
atmosphere  of  gayetv,  luxury,  and  magnificence. 

"Mother,"  said  tne  young  count  one  morning,  "you 
seem  to  have  grown  younger  and  handsomer.  I  could 
not  have  believed  that  any  one  could  change  so  much." 

Madame  looked  at  him,  her  proud  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  gently,  "  I  did  not  know  that  any 
one  could  be  so  happy ;  I  did  not  know  what  life  held ; 
I  did  not  know  that  so  much  brightness  could  come  into 
the  life  of  one  person.  I  am  old  in  years,  but  I  am 
young  in  happiness,  I  have  had  so  little." 

"  Old  in  years !  "  he  cried.  "  Nay,  mother,  that  can- 
not be :  you  have  not  one  gray  hair,  and  the  deep  lines 
are  dying  away.  Another  month  at  Belle  d'Or  and  you 
will  not  have  one  left.  Why,  mother,  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  that  was  at  once  sweet 
and  shy. 

"  I  was  married  so  young,"  she  replied.  "  I  was  only 
seventeen." 

"  And  I  shall  be  twenty  next  month,"  he  said.  "  Then 
you  are  thirty-eight.  Why,  that  is  young  enough  for 
anything.  You  have  a  long  life  of  enjoyment  before 
you." 

"  I  regret  the  many  years  I  have  lost,"  she  said.  "  If 
I  had  been  mistress  of  Belle  d'Or  at  seventeen  how  I 
should  have  enjoyed  it.  My  good  fortune  has  come 
almost  twenty  years  too  late." 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  he  replied,  gayly.  "  I  will 
tell  you  what  you  must  do,  mother,  to  make  up  for  lost 
time.  You  must  contrive  to  get  two  years'  enjoyment 
and  happiness  crowded  into  one." 

Madame  smiled. 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  she  said. 

Then  came  to  Madame  la  Colntesse  the  greatest, 
keenest  delight  of  her  life,  being  neither  more  nor  less 
than  an  invitation  from  the  emperor  and  empress  to 
spend  three  days  at  Compiegne.  She  trembled  with 
delight  as  she  read  it,  and  passed  it  to  her  son. 

"  They  have  not  forgotten  us,"  she  said. 

Then  she  looked  at  him  thoughdaily. 


116  THE  BELLE  OP  LTITIT. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  the  emperor  will  like  you.** 

"  I  hope  80,  too,  mother,"  he  said,  brightly. 

"  I  hope  you  will  do  your  best  to  please  both  emperor 
and  empress,"  she  added.  "  I  have  my  views  for  you  — 
for  your  future,  I  mean.  I  have  mapped  out  such  a 
future  for  you,  my  son,  as  will  make  yon  one  of  the  first 
men  in  France,  if  you  will  follow  the  lines  laid  down." 

**  1  will  do  anything  to  please  you,  mother,"  he  said. 

But  he  was  ill  at  ease. 

"  The  whole  honor  and  fortune  and  glory  of  the  Sol- 
danas  rest  on  your  shoulders,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  It 
depends  entirely  on  you  whether  what  was  once  the  most 
noble  of  the  many  noble  families  in  France  falls  into 
obscurity,  or  whether  it  finds  a  place  again  in  the  fore- 
most ranks." 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  And  you  are  prepared  to  meet  the  responsibility  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  You  will  let  me  advise,  if  not  guide  you,  for  the 
next  two  or  three  years,  Leon  ?  "  said  madame 

"  I  will  mother,"  he  replied. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  continued,  hurriedly,  "  that  this 
is  too  bright,  too  beautiful  to  last.  If  anything  were 
needed  to  make  me  perfectly  happy,  it  was  this  invitation 
from  the  empress.  And  oh,  Leon,  how  I  do  hope  that 
there  at  Compi^gne  we  may  meet  some  fair  young  girl 
who  will  make  a  good  wife  lor  you  !  " 

He  had  opened  his  lips  to  say,  "  Mother,  I  am  mar- 
ried ; "  but  looking  at  her  wistful  face,  he  said  to  himt^elt 
that  he  would  not  spoil  this,  her  first  visit  to  court  ••  iir> 
would  wait  until  she  returned. 


\         ■ 


THE    BELLi:    OF    LTN2T  11' 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Three  bright,  beautiful  days  that  madame  enjoyed  to 
ler  heart's  content.  Nothing  could  have  been  kinder 
tliaa  the  reception  accorded  to  mother  and  son  by  the 
emperor  and  empress.  The  young  count  was  most  popu- 
Lir.  His  mother  said  to  herself,  proudly  and  fondly,  that 
he  was  a  born  courtier.  The  emperor,  who  knew  well 
what  the  life  of  an  exile  in  England  was,  delighted  in 
talking  to  him  of  it.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  the 
emperor  to  walk  out  with  the  young  count  while  they 
discussed  the  beauties  and  merits  of  the  land  where  both 
had  sought  a  refuge.  The  young  count  knew  nothing  of 
the  etiquette  of  court,  and  it  was  for  that  reason  the 
emperor  liked  talking  to  him  ;  he  spoke  out  his  thoughts 
naturally,  frank,  bravely ;  he  had  not  been  taught  to  suit 
his  words  to  his  listener,  but  to  express  by  them  his  own 
ideas.  He  spoke  of  England  and  France,  of  the  differ- 
ences between  the  two  nations,  and  the  national  chai-acter. 

He  dared  to  say  to  the  man  who  had  conquered 
France,  and  ruled  her  in  his  own  fashion,  that  France 
wanted  more  liberty ;  but  he  agreed  that  the  same 
amount  of  liberty  accorded  to  Englishmen  would  be 
most  injurious  to  Frenchmen. 

The  ministers  of  state  and  experienced  courtiers 
wondered  much  at  the  charm  the  emperor  found  in  the 
3onversation  of  this  fair,  frank  young  nobleman.  Nor 
.vas  the  empress  less  pleased  with  him  ;  she  praised  him 
3xceedingly  to  his  mother,  and  these  praises  were  most 
grateful  to  the  proud  lady.  The  empress  predicted  that 
lier  son  would  be  one  of  the  rising  men  in  France;  the 
happy  countess  agreed  with  her. 

"  I  shall  always  take  an  interest  in  his  welfare,"  said 
the  beautiful  sovereign,  and  the  heart  of  Madame  la 
Comtesse  was  elated  at  the  words. 

Then  madame,  encouraged  by  the  kindness  and  grace 
of  the  imperial  lady,  spoke  of  what  was  now  her  one 


118  "^i.  3BLLE  OF  LTHir. 

great  anxiety;  -U    marriage  —  his  marriage,  which  would 
make  or  mar  hie  career. 

The  family  had  been  bo  long  in  exile  that  they  had  in 
some  degree  fallen  from  the  memory  of  the  French 
nation.  An  alliance  with  some  well-known  noble  race 
would,  she  felt  sure,  be  the  best  way  of  bringing  them- 
selves back  to  the  remembrance  of  the  people. 

The  empress  smiled  as  she  listened. 

"  You  will  not  have  much  diflBculty  in  marrying  your 
son,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  said  her  majesty.  "  There 
are  manv  fair  and  noble  ladies  in  France  who  will  favor 
his  suit. 

Happy  mother,  to  whom  came  no  doubt  of  the  fntnre, 
no  doubt  but  that  when  she  pointed  out  a  suitable  wife 
for  her  son,  he  would  at  once  marry 

She  was  a  little  struck  by  the  fact  that  no  matter  how 
many  beautiful  girls  he  saw,  the  vounj?  court  never 
seemed  to  be  attracted  by  any  of  them.  The  yf^r.ng  ladies 
themselves,  some  of  them  beautiful  and  well  born,  won- 
dered a  little  why  no  admiring  glances  from  the  fine, 
keen,  gray  eyes  fell  upon  them  —  why  the  yor.ng  count's 
handjBome  face  never  seemed  the  bri<rliter  for  their 
presence  in  that  court,  where  beautiful  women  rule 
supreme,  it  was  a  noticeable  fact. 

The  young  husband's  heart  was  Gtiil  faithful  to  hie 
wife ;  no  other  woman  had  any  charm  for  him  ;  he  saw 
no  beauty  even  in  the  fairesi;  of  faces.  No  one  there  was 
like  Lima  —  no  one  could  be. 

And  while  he  enjoyed  himself,  whil-  be  was  a  welcome 
guest  at  the  emperor's  court,  whila  he  lived  in  the  midst 
of  luxury  and  magnificence,  while  the  days  for  him  were 
%  full  of  novelty,  of  pleasure  and  gayety,  that  he  could 
hardly  count  them  as  they  passed,  Lima  was  wearing  her 
heart  away  on  the  banks  ^f  Allan  Water. 

She  had  plenty  of  *etters  from  Ijim,  plenty  of  money : 
she  could  not  imagine  where  i  all  came  from.  Every 
letter  said  how  soon  he  was  returning,  but  he  never  came. 
It  was  Christmas  wh^n  he  lefl  and  he  told  her  he  should 
be  back  long  before  lie  leave;;  were  on  the  trees.  Winter 
bad  passed  and  gone;  sprint,  "with  its  tender  blossoms, 
>iad  come  and  gone :  summer  was  here,  with  ita  wealth  of 


THE   BELLE   OF  LYNN.  119 

roses ;  still  he  had  not  come.  She  had  lost  none  of  her 
faith  in  him,  none  of  her  love  for  him,  but  she  was 
desolate  and  lonely. 

The  principal  of  the  college,  who  had  always  taken  a 
lively  interest  in  her,  came  to  see  her  on  the  morning 
when  he  received  the  letter  saying  that  Leon  de  Soldana 
would  not  be  able  to  return  to  his  duties  at  the  college. 

Not  knowing  the  reason,  the  principal  deeply  regret- 
ted. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  he  is  not  returning  to  us,"  he  said ; 
"  my  boys  will  never  get  on  so  well  with  any  one  else ; 
they  were  much  attached  to  him." 

Lima  smiled ;  she  remembered  how  her  husband  had 
spoken  of  the  "  sturdy  British  boys." 

"  Do  you  know,"  asked  the  principal,  anxiously,  "  what 
he  is  going  to  do?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  not  the  least  idea." 

That  there  was  any  thought  of  his  restoration  to  France 
and  to  his  estates,  they  had  not  the  faintest  or  most 
distant  dream. 

"  If  you  do  not  think  it  intrusive,  1  should  like  to  ask 
what  he  says  to  you  about  returning,  and  his  future.  I 
should  not  like  to  lose  his  services,  if  I  can  possibly 
help  it." 

The  smile  on  her  sweet  face  was  a  sad  one,  as  she 
answered : 

"  He  always  says  the  same  thing  to  me — that  he  shall 
return  as  soon  as  his  business  is  ended ;  but  he  never 
writes  of  what  he  is  doing,  or  of  the  future,"  and  the 
principal  looked  at  her  with  some  little  wonder. 

"  Do  you  not  think  it  strange?  "  he  asked. 

Her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  drooped. 

"  It  is  his  way,"  she  said,  quietly ;  "  and  I  trust  him." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  the  principal,  "  yet,  none  the  less,  I 
think  his  conduct  strange.  You  must  be  very  lonely 
here  ? "  he  added. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  said. 

"  May  I  ask  you  further  —  if  your  father  is  reconciled 
to  you  yet  ? "   he  continued. 

"  No,  and  I  fear  never  will  be,"   she  answered.     "  I 


130  THB  BELLB   OF  LTNK. 

wish  it  were  so.    It  would  be  a  great  consolation  to  me 
if  I  could  see  them." 

"  You  must  be  lonely,"  he  repeated,  thinking  to  him- 
self how  sad  it  was  that  this  girl,  so  young  and  so  lovely, 
should  be  left  here  alone  and  unprotected. 

"  If  I  knew  where  that  young  Soldana  was  I  would 
write  to  him  and  give  him  a  piece  of  ray  mind,"  thought 
the  principal.  "  He  ought  either  to  have  left  her  in  the 
safe  shelter  of  her  own  home,  or  to  take  care  of  her  in 
the  one  he  has  made  for  her.  And  the  miller,  too,  I 
should  like  to  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him  —  to  avenge 
what  he  considers  his  wrongs  on  a  child  like  this." 

"  If  you  are  in  trouble,"  he  said,  somewhat  abruptly, 
"  come  to  me." 

"  I  will,"  she  answered,  simply ;  and  she  pondered  long 
over  those  words  after  he  had  gone  away. 

"  In  trouble."  "What  trouble  was  ne  thinking  of  ? 
What  did  he  foresee  for  her  that  he  should  utter  such 
words?  True,  she  was  very  lonely,  very  desolate;  her 
days  and  nights  were  full  of  weariness.  But  he  would 
come  hack,  as  he  said,  and  they  would  never  be  parted 
more.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  never  known  a  fear  that 
he  would  not  return. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  her ;  but  her  heart  was  heavy 
that  evening  as  she  walked  the  banks  of  Allan  Water. 
The  water  was  shining  like  gold  in  the  light  of  the 
setting  sun. 

This  time  last  year,  when  the  golden  glow  lay  on  the 
shining  waters,  and  on  the  green  lines,  A«  nad  been  there 
with  her — only  a  year  ago. 

It  seemedfto  her  that  she  could  hear  her  own  voice 
floating  over  the  stream,  and  singing  always  the  same  sad 
song — 

**  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 

Where  the  sweet  spring-tide  did  fall, 
Was  the  miller's  lovely  daughter, 

Fairest  of  them  all. 
For  his  bride  a  soldier  sought  h«r. 

And  a  winning  tongue  had  he, 
Ob  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
{I^one  so  gay  as  she." 


TBS  BBLLB  OF  LTim.  121 

Those  sad,  sweet  words  would  haunt  her : 

♦•  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he, 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  fair  as  she." 

Ah,  these  words  were  true !  None  were  so  sad  as  she; 
Across  the  water  she  could  see  the  dear  old  home,  with 
its  red  roof,  and  the  blue  pigeons  flying  about  their  cote. 
Across  that  broad,  bright  sheet  of  water  were  the  parents 
who  had  loved  her  so  dearly.  Her  heart  yearned  toward 
them ;  but  she  knew  it  was  useless  to  appeal  to  her 
father. 

She  was  so  completely  alone,  and  her  heart  so  full  of 
love  —  suddenly,  as  she  stood  watching  the  waters  and 
thinking  of  the  time  when  Leon  had  rowed  her  over  this 
wide,  beautiful  mere,  there  came  to  her  mind  these 
words : 

"  May  the  curse  of  the  disobedient  rest  with  you,  and 
follow  you  wherever  you  may  go !  " 

Although  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  wama 
Bummer  wind  was  laden  with  perfume,  she  shivered  aa 
one  struck  with  mortal  cold. 

"  The  curse  of  the  disobedient !  "  Surely  it  was  not 
that  which  had  fallen  on  her  now.  It  was  not  that  which 
had  left  her — in  the  first  year  of  her  married  life — a  lone 
woman,  desolate,  and  with  an  aching  heart. 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  golden  waters. 

"  Oh,  father,  take  back  that  curse  ;  oh.  Heaven,  do  not 
let  it  fall  on  me." 

Would  —  would  it  fall  on  the  beautiful,  gentle  head, 
and  would  it  take  that  terrible  shape  —  that  her  hosbaod 
would  never  return  to  her  3 


123  TBS  BELLS  OF  LTXV. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


When  the  young  Count  of  Soldana  returned  to  Ma 
estate  of  Belle  d'Or  his  whole  being  seemed  changed. 
,  That  glimpse  of  tlie  glories  of  a  court,  that  close  associa- 
tion with  the  greatest  men  of  the  day,  that  familiarity 
with  the  greatest  luxury  and  the  greatest  magnificence  of 
which  the  world  can  boast,  had  changed  him.  He  be- 
longed by  birth  to  this  new  order  of  things  ;  his  ancestors 
had  been  honored  by  the  friendship  of  sovereigns.  The 
past  seemed  to  fall  from  him  —  the  black,  bitter  past,  all 
poverty  and  humiliation;  the  very  memory  of  it  died 
from  him.  He  seemed  to  live  only  in  the  present,  only 
to  have  lived  since  he  came  to  Belle  d'Or.  He  returned 
with  his  mind  full  of  grand  thoughts  and  noble  aspira- 
tions. 

"  He  would  never  be  content,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  with  a  life  of  pleasure ;  he  would  work  hard  for 
France ;  he  would  make  the  name  of  Soldana  famous 
throughout  the  empire ;  he  would  bring  back  more  than 
the  ancient  glories  of  the  old  name,  more  than  its  ancient 
honors." 

His  heart  thrilled  with  ambition  ;  a  passionate  longing 
for  honor  and  glory  seized  him.  He  longed  for  war  that 
he  might  distmguish  himself  as  a  great  warrior;  he 
longed  to  fling  himself  into  the  arena  of  politics,  to  be  a 
great  leader,  an  eminent  statesman,  a  famous  orator. 

"  Anything,  anything  I  "  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  toss 
of  his  handsome  head.  "  The  only  thing  to  which  I  can 
never  submit  is  to  remain  *  nothing.'  " 

He  had  been  well  content  when  he  first  came  to  Belle 
d'Or  with  the  novelty  of  his  situation,  with  the  power 
and  luxury  he  enjoyed  there,  but  that  would  never 
eontent  him  again. 

A  new  soul  was  aroused  in  him ;  fiery  ambition,  the 
longing  to  be  greatest  even  amongst  great  men  —  all  of 
which  had  lain  dormant  with  him ;  but  circnmBtances 
iud  repreised  rather  thau  drawn  out  these  characteiifiticA. 


THE  BELLE  OF  LTHW.  123 

Ambition  was  not  of  much  use  to  the  poor  teacher  of 
French,  who  had  been  advised  to  hide  his  title  lest  it 
should  lay  him  open  to  great  contempt.  But  now,  that 
fiery  and  predominant  passion  surged  in  his  soul.  A  rich 
man,  that  was  all  very  well,  but  he  wanted  to  be  a  great 
man. 

And  while  heart  and  soul  were  given  up  to  these  ideas 
he  never  thought  of  England,  of  the  cottage  at  Lynn,  or 
of  the  beautiful  young  wife  waiting  there  for  him.  If 
he  did,  it  was  with  something  like  a  passing  shadow ;  but 
one  morning  came  a  long  letter  from  Lima,  and  all  her 
heart  was  in  it.  She  told  him  how  she  missed  him,  how 
lonely  and  sorrowful,  how  sad  and  desolate  she  was.  She 
reproached  him,  but  her  reproaches  were  so  gentle,  so 
tender,  they  were  more  like  loving  words. 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking,  Leon,"  she  wrote,  "  that  I 
ought  to  be  first^  not  last^  that  I  ought  to  come  before 
business,  no  matter  how  important  it  is.  You  left  me 
more  than  six  months  ago,  and  my  life  has  been  one 
longing  for  you  ever  since.  Leon,  if  you  cannot  return 
to  me,  may  I  come  to  you  ?  I  do  not  care  to  live  away 
from  you  any  longer ;  tell  me  that  I  may  come." 

That  letter  startled  him,  and  he  was  amazed  to  find 
how,  in  this  thrilling  hour  of  his  triumph,  he  had  almost 
forgotton  his  fair  young  wife.  How  vividly  she  rose  be- 
fore him,  her  fair  sweet  face  with  its  dainty,  healthy 
bloom ;  her  golden  hair,  which  had  caught  the  brightness 
of  the  sun  ;  the  lovely  eyes,  always  full  of  love  and  bright 
as  stars ;  the  tall,  graceful  figure,  always  draped  in  blue 
or  white.  How  plainly  he  could  see  her  standing  on  the 
banks  of  Allan  Water,  shading  with  her  white  hand  her 
eyes  from  the  light  of  the  sun  ;  he  could  almost  hear  the 
sweet  voice  calling  "  Leon,  Leon  ; "  he  could  hear  the 
sweet  sad  words  of  her  favorite  ballad  floating  over  the 
mere. 

"  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  gay  as  she," 

She  would  not  be  gay  now ;  the  beautiful  face  would 
have  lost  its  bloom.  Ah,  well,  he  must  think  of  her :  he 
must  tell  his  mother  of  his  marriage,  and  he  mii£t  bring 
Jiiis  vif  e  liouie. 


124  THE  BELLE  OF  LTlfMr, 

Yet  he,  who  longed  to  be  a  great  general,  who  longed 
to  be  an  eminent  statesman,  and  to  make  his  name  a 
power  in  the  land,  he  was  afraid  to  tell  his  proud  patri- 
cian mother  what  he  had  done ;  he  was  afraid  to  tell  her 
tljat  he  had  married  a  miller's  daughter,  though  she  was 
fair  as  a  flower  and  bright  as  a  sunbeam.  He  knew  the 
terrible  grief  and  pain  it  would  cause  her;  he  knew  that 
it  would  spoil  her  life,  mar  her  triumph,  and  destroy 
all  her  new-found  pleasure.  He  hated  the  very  thouglit 
of  causing  her  pain,  he  was  so  deeply  touched  by  her 
liappiness  and  keen  enjoyment  of  all  the  good  things 
that  had  come  to  them.  Still  she  must  be  told  —  in  a 
short  time ;  let  affairs  grow  more  settled  yet.  He  might 
even  run  over  to  England  to  see  her ;  but  he,  the  lord  of 
Belle  d'Or,  shrunk  from  returning,  even  for  an  hour,  to 
the  scene  of  his  poverty  and  exile 

He  loved  Lima,  but  he  began  to  admit  to  himself  it 
was  just  possible  that  his  marriage  had  been  a  mistake ; 
he  would  not,  even  to  his  own  thoughts,  admit  more  than 
that. 

His  sweet,  simple  Lima  was  no  more  like  these  stately 
patrician  ladies  than  a  wild  flower  was  like  the  queen  of 
the  conservatory.  She  would  be  out  of  place  at  the 
Court  of  the  Tuileries,  or  the  Palace  of  Versailles. 

He  felt  that  he  had  in  great  measure  embarrassed  him- 
self and  complicated  his  own  fate.  He  loved  Lima,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  felt  that  he  would  have  been  much 
happier  had  he  been  free. 

He  wanted  to  please  his  mother  and  make  her  happy. 
He  knew  that  what  he  had  to  tell  her  would  make  her 
wretched  for  life. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  even  if  I  had  told  hei 
quite  at  first,"  he  said,  to  himself.  He  was  not  the 
happiest  of  men  with  this  secret  hanging  over  him.  He 
contented  himself  for  the  time  by  writing  a  loving  letter 
to  Lima,  and  telling  her  he  should  soon  be  there.  Then, 
in  the  flush  of  his  grand  aspirations,  he  forgot  her  again. 
Even  had  he  been  there,  it  was  not  to  her  that  he  would 
have  turned  for  sympathy  in  these  new  thoughts  and 
ideas.  She  was  his  love  connected  in  his  mind  with 
beautifal  pictores  of  AUaq  Water,  and   of  flowers,  of 


THE  BELLK   OF  LYNK.  1*25 

snnshine  and  blue  skies;  bnt  she  had  no  connection 
whatever  with  his  newly  awakened  ambition  or  his 
present  life. 

It  was  to  his  mother  he  turned  for  sympathy.  She 
listened  to  him  with  a  rapture  of  delight. 

"  Leon,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  just  what  I  wished  yoit 
to  be ;  you  carry  out  my  own  thoughts.  When  we  had 
been  parted  so  long,  and  I  wondered  so  much  what  you 
would  be  like  if  we  met  again,  I  always  hoped  you 
would  be  just  what  I  find  you  are.  I  can  give  you  no 
greater  praise  than  that." 

"  You  can  give  me  none  sweeter,  mother,"  he  answer- 
ed, kissing  her  hand. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  a  great  man,"  she  said  —  "a  man 
whose  name  will  live  in  the  memory  of  France.  I  am 
glad  you  are  ambitious,  Leon;  no  man  ever  makes  a 
career  who  is  not  ambitious." 

"  I  believe  that,"  he  said ;  but  it  is  just  possible  that 
he  might  have  learned  nobler  and  better  lessons  from  his 
mother. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Leon,"  said  Madame  la 
Comtesse,  "  that  we  ought  to  go  to  Paris  for  some  months. 
Belle  d'Or  is  delightful,  nothing  could  be  better,  but  you 
must  be  more  in  the  world.  I  have  lost  my  fear  of  Paris 
now,  and  shall  be  glad  to  go  there.  We  must  refurnish 
the  Hotel  d'Or,  then  my  highest  ambition  will  be  grati- 
fied. I  shall  be  queen  of  a  salon.  I  shall  gather  a  circle 
of  the  most  eminent  men  in  Paris  around  me.  Oh,  Leon ! 
I  long  for  the  life,  and  you,  my  son,  with  your  talents 
and  —  forgive  me  —  your  beauty,  you  may  reach  the 
highest  position  that  any  man  can  aspire  to.  I  long  for 
the  time  to  come.  Belle  d'Or  is  so  beautiful,  but  so  quiet. 
I  long  for  brilliant  Paris,  and  to  be  floating  down  the 
stream.     Are  you  willing,  Leon  1 "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  more  than  willing,"  he  answered.  "  After 
Compiegne,  I  shall  not  care  so  much  for  seclusion  again." 

"  And,  Leon,"  said  his  mother,  "  while  we  are  discuss- 
ing tlie  subject,  I  wish  to  speak  a  few  most  serious  words 
to  you  on  the  great  event  of  your  life  —  your  marriage. 
As  I  have  told  you,"  she  continued,  "  that  event  will 
make  or  mar  your  life.    You  must  marry  into  some  noble 


126  THE   BELLE   OF    LTWU. 

family  well  establishea  in  France ;  a  family  that  has  hold 
of  the  nation,  as  it  were  —  a  wealthy  family;  a  family 
whose  influence  and  aristocratic  connections  will  be  of 
use  to  you.     You  understand,  Leon  ? " 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  slowly. 

Should  he  tell  her  now  ?  Alas,  poor  mother,  must  he 
destroy  all  her  hopes  and  plans  at  one  blow  ?  Alas,  poor 
Lima,  must  he  keep  her  at  a  distance  and  know  she  was 
unhappy  ?  He  asked  himself  if  ever  man's  heart  was  torn 
before  between  mother  and  wife. 

"  I  was  much  gratified,"  continued  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse,  "  by  the  interest  the  empress  expressed  in  your 
marriage. 

His  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"Did  she?  It  was  very  kind  of  her,"  he  replied, 
inwardly  wondering  what  that  imperial  lady  would  say 
when  she  heard  that  he  had  married  a  miller's  daughter. 

"  That  is  one  reason  why  I  am  so  anxious  to  go  to 
Paris,"  she  continued.  "  We  shall  go  often  to  court,  and 
in  Paris  you  will  see  the  daughters  of  the  oldest  and 
noblest  families  in  France.  I  hope,  Leon,  that  when  you 
were  in  England  you  did  not  imbibe  the  absurd  English 
ideas  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  How  absurd  ?  "  he  asked,  briefly. 

"  I  mean  marrying  for  love  or  any  nonsense  of  that 
kind,"  answered  madame.  "  I  look  upon  the  fashion  of 
marriage  as  it  exists  in  England,  almost  as  a  disgrace  to 
the  nation.  Our  notion  of  marriage  is  much  better. 
Two  young  people  well  suited  in  fortune  and  position, 
the  whole  anair  managed  by  their  friends,  and  no  non- 
sense about  love.  You  must  allow  me  to  arrange  you^ 
marriage,  Leon." 

He  turned  from  her  with  something  that  sounded  likt 
ft  groan. 


THE  BiJLL-J  OF  LYNir.  127 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IlivEKY  one  who  has  studied  life  knows  what  life  in 
Paris  is;  a  delirium  of  delight,  a  dream  of  wonder,  a 
daze  of  splendor,  a  time  never  to  be  forgotten. 

When  he  first  plunged  into  it,  the  young  count  was 
lost.  Its  delights,  its  thousand  charms,  its  fascinations, 
even  its  perils  and  dangers  have  a  charm  that  belong  to 
no  other  city.  It  is  true  that  at  times  a  torrent  of 
crimson  blood  stains  its  streets,  that  a  mad  wild  mob 
burns,  destroys  and  slaughters.  It  is  true  that  men  and 
women  have  danced  round  the  scaffold  where  king, 
queen,  the  noblest  and  fairest  in  the  land,  perished  ;  true 
that  there  runs  ever  an  under  current  of  wild,  fierce 
revolution,  but  for  all  that,  Paris  stands  by  itself  —  the 
fairest,  brightest,  most  brilliant  city  in  the  wide  world. 

It  was  all  novelty  to  the  young  count.  The  brilliant 
gayety,  the  fashion,  the  luxury,  the  magnificence  of  Paris 
overwhelmed  him;  he  was  dazed,  he  could  not  under- 
stand it.  At  first  he  hardly  thought  of  anything  else ; 
operas,  theaters,  balls,  court  entertainments,  were  all 
novelties  to  him ;  at  first  he  thought  he  would  go  to  the 
opera  every  night :  that  he  should  never  weary  of  sweet 
Bounds.  Then  the  balls  were  so  brilliant  he  gave  them 
the  preference — he  was  bewildered  by  so  many  pleasures. 

"To  think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that  life  held  all 
this,  and  I  did  not  know  it." 

There  was  no  one  in  all  Paris  so  courted,  so  popular,  or 
so  feted.  Life  was  all  sunshine,  all  brilliancy ;  and  when 
it  was  known  that  the  young  Comte  de  Soldana  was  one 
of  the  greatest  favorites  at  court,  his  popularity  was 
increased. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  watched  in  silence.  She  had  the 
great  sense  to  understand  that  it  must  be  so,  that  he 
must  go  through  the  intoxication  of  pleasure ;  and  then 
his  ambition,  his  grand  and  glorious  desires  and  wishes, 
would  all  return  to  him. 

It  was  so;  he  had  great  faults  —  this  gallant  youn^ 


128  THE  BELLB  OP  LTNlSr. 

count ;  lie  was  weak  in  submitting  so  entirely  to  hh 
mother,  weaker  still  in  keeping  his  secret  from  her,  but 
he  was  not  a  man  whom  mere  pleasure  could  ever  con- 
tent :  his  ambition  was  too  great. 

A  few  weeks  of  bewilderment  and  intoxication,  then 
the  old  desire  awakened.  It  was  in  September  then :  a 
few  more  weeks  and  he  would  have  been  a  whole  year 
absent  from  Lima.  He  was  beginning,  and  with  good 
cause,  to  feel  most  miserable,  and  to  feel  that  his  secret 
was  a  burden  he  could  not  bear  much  longer. 

No  success  could  have  been  greater  than  that  of 
Madame  de  Soldana.  She  was  mistress  of  the  most 
magnificently  furnished  house  in  Paris.  She  had  drawn 
round  herself  a  circle  of  the  noblest  and  wisest  men,  of 
the  most  distinguished  and  beautiful  women.  Princes, 
artists,  great  writers,  men  of  eminence  crowded  her 
salon :  her  statuesque  grace,  her  patrician  manner,  her 
wonderful  wit  and  talent  attracted  them.  She  was 
the  kind  of  a  woman  worshipped  in  Parisian  society,  and 
she  enjoyed  her  reign.  There  came  a  morning  when 
madame  sought  her  son,  her  face  bright  and  animated. 

He  was  seated  in  a  room  that  had  been  fitted  up  en- 
tirely for  his  own  use  ;  all  the  things  he  valued  most 
were  there  —  his  favorite  pictures  and  books;  a  beautiful 
room,  with  a  richly  painted  ceiling  and  superb  carvings, 
long  windows  that  opened  on  to  a  small  but  exquisite 
garden;  a  fountain  played  in  the  midst,  and  roses  bloomed 
all  round.  The  count  infinitely  preferred  this  room  to 
the  suite  of  magnificent  apartments  which  overlooked  the 
grand  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  and  were  considered  the 
finest  in  Paris.  It  was  here  that  madame  found  him 
Madame  herself  looked  wonderfully  well,  almost  hand- 
some. She  wore  a  dress  that  could  only  be  made  in 
Paris,  of  rich  black  velvet,  in  which  some  threads  of  gold 
seemed  to  have  been  woven  as  if  by  accident,  with  oma-' 
ments  of  dead  gold. 

The  young  fellow's  eyes  brightened  with  pleasure 
when  he  saw  her.  He  rose  quickly  and  placed  a  chair 
for  her. 

"  Wbat  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  see  you  here  in  my 
voom,  mother,"  he  said. 


'ixiij.    liKLLE   OP   LYNN.  12^ 

'■'■■  My  son,"  said  madame,  with  grave  sweetness.  "  I 
liave  good  news  for  you." 

"  You  look  like  it !  "  he  cried.  "  I  nave  never  seen 
you  look  so  well  or  so  happy," 

'•  I  have  never  been  so  happy,"  she  answered,  slowly. 
She  was  au  impressive  figure  v/hen  she  rose  and  stood 
before  him,  her  stately  form  tall  and  erect,  her  black 
velvet  robe  sweeping  the  ground.  She  raised  her  proud 
face,  she  raised  her  clasped  hands  —  she  looked  like  some 
magnificent  tragedy  queen.  "  I  thank  Heaven,  my  son," 
she  said,  "I  have  lived  to  see  every  desire  of  ray  heart 
gratified.  It  is  indeed  good  news  that  I  bring  you.  I 
have  found  the  very  wife  for  you !  If  Heaven  itself 
li.iJ  interested  itself  in  finding  a  vrife  for  you,  the  choice 
could  not  have  been  a  wiser  one.  My  son,"  she  repeat- 
ed, "  I  bring  you  the  best  and  happiest  news  that  it  is 
possible  to  bring." 

For  a  few  moments  the  young  count  was  quite  silent ; 
he  looked  in  wonder  at  the  superb  figure  of  his  mother,  at 
her  inspired  face  and  clasped  hands,  then  seemed  sudden- 
ly to  realize  wliat  she  meant — and  what  it  meant  for  him. 

"  I  have  found  a  treasure,"  she  said,  "  a  pearl  beyond 
price  —  I  believe  the  one  very  girl  in  the  wide  world  in- 
tended for  you.  She  is  beautiful,  Leon,  with  a  quick, 
proud,  passionate  beauty,  which  you  adore.  She  is  rich  as 
few  women  in  France  are  ;  she  is  a  great  heiress,  and  she 
is  the  only  daughter  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  his- 
torical families  in  France.  She  was  created  —  I  shall 
always  feel  sure  of  that — expressly  for  you." 

He  laughed,  but  ther«  was  a  curious  ring  in  his  laugh- 
ter.    She  was  too  excited  to  noticed  it. 

"  But,  mother,"  he  cried  hastily,  "  who  is  this  paragon 
—  this  treasure  ?  " 

"  Helene  de  Saison,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "  The  sole 
heiress  of  the  great  De  Saison  family.  If  you  had  no 
other  place  in  the  world  than  that  of  her  husband,  you 
would  be  one  of  the  foremost  men  in  France ;  being 
what  you  are,  and  marrying  her,  you  will  be  amongst 
the  princes  of  the  land.  Her  beauty  is  great,  Leon, 
proud,  patrician.     She  looks  as   though  born  to  be  a 


130  THE   BELLK   OF    LYNN. 

queen.  Her  wealth  is  enormous.  There  is  no  fortune  in 
France  much  larger  than  hers.  She  inherits  all  the  De 
Saisons'  property.  She  has  a  rent-roll  tliat  will  astonish 
you.  What  is  of  still  more  consequence  to  you,  she  is 
connected  with  the  noblest  families  in  France ;  so  by 
marrying  her  you  will  at  once  attain  a  position  that 
years'  working  for  could  never  give  you ;  everything 
will  be  yours  at  once,  great  wealth,  great  power,  great 
fame,  and  a  beautiful  young  wife.  Why,  Leon,  you 
ought  to  go  down  on  your  knees  and  thank  Heaven.  I 
do  not  believe  there  is  another  young  man  in  France  that 
has  such  a  magnificent  prospect  before  him." 

Then  Madame  la  Comtesse  entered  into  a  long  descrip- 
tion of  the  De  Saison  family ;  how  their  connections 
extended,  how  powerful  and  influential  they  were.  Still 
her  son  sat  silent.  He  seemed  to  be  watching  the  red  of 
the  rose  and  the  silver  of  the  orange-blossoms.  Ever 
afterward  he  detested  those  two  flowers,  but  he  was 
wondering  how  and  in  what  words  he  should  tell  her. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  looked  at  her  son.  She  wondered 
just  a  little  at  his  silence.  She  had  expected  at  least  a  cry 
of  delight,  an  exclamation  of  pleasure,  a  few  questions 
that  betokened  interest ;  anything  but  silence. 

"  You  do  not  say  anything,  Leon,"  continued  madame, 
"  but  I  know  you  are  delighted.  I  may  tell  you  quite 
confidentially  that  the  empress  highly  approves  ;  indeed, 
I  know  of  nothing  so  delightful,  so  suitable,  nothing  that 
could  have  been  so  advantageous  to  you,  or  have  given  so 
much  happiness  to  me." 

Still  he  looked  only  at  the  red  of  the  rose  and  the 
silver  of  the  orange-blossoms.  Still  no  fear  came  to  the 
mother  whose  brilliant  hopes  were  so  soon  to  be  shatter- 
ed in  the  dust.     Madame  continued : 

"  The  empress  has  spoken  to  me  about  it,  and  I  have 
seen  Madame  de  Vesey,  who  is  mademoiselle's  aunt  and 
guardian." 

Then  he  knew  that  he  must  speak,  but  it  would  have 
been  easier  for  him  to  have  slain  her  than  to  have  said 
what  he  had  to  say,  but  it  must  be  done. 

**  liothar,"  he  said,  slowly,  "do  not  lay  any  more  plans 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  131 

for  me.  I  have  not  liked  to  tell  you  before,  but  the  fact 
is  —  I  am  married  !  "  and  then  silence,  more  bitter  than 
death,  fell  over  them. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

A  SILENCE  that  was  terrible.  It  was  as  though  the 
very  sounds  of  nature  ceased  —  the  whisper  of  the  wind 
among  the  orange-blossoms,  the  falling  of  the  soft  rose- 
petals  to  the  ground — a  terrible,  blank  silence.  Then  he 
took  courage — the  words  were  spoken,  nothing  could 
unsay  them ;  they  had  fallen  like  thunderbolts  on  the 
clear  summer  air.  The  ice  was  broken  —  the  first  step, 
which,  costs  so  dearly,  was  taken.  He  took  courage  and 
looked  at  her;  but  between  his  mother  of  now  and  his 
mother  of  five  minutes  since,  with  figure  erect  and  out- 
stretched hands,  there  was  difference  great  as  between  a 
living  and  a  dead  woman.  Her  proud  face  had  grown 
white,  as  with  the  very  pallor  of  death ;  a  sudden  parox- 
ysm of  horror  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  her ;  the 
expression  in  her  eyes  frightened  him. 

No  voice  even  from  a  sepulcher  could  have  been  more 
terrible  than  that  in  which  she  repeated  the  one  word : 

"  Married !  " 

The  ice  was  broken  now,  and  he  could  go  on. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  long  enough  ago,  mother," 
he  said;  "  but  I  knew  that  whenever  you  heard  the  news 
it  would  make  you  miserable,  so  I  have  delayed  it  as 
long  as  I  dared." 

"  Married  ! "  repeated  madame,  in  the  same  terrible 
voice.     "  I  will  not  believe  it  —  it  is  Twt  true !  " 

"  It  is  true  enough,  mother,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  I 
wish  I  could  have  spared  you  all  such  pain." 

He  went  to  her,  but  he  saw  that  all  the  strength  had 
gone  from  her ;  the  tall,  erect  figure  was  trembling  and 
drooping ;  all  the  grace  and  majesty  seemed  to  have  left 
it.  She  sunk  on  the  couch  that  stood  near  the  window, 
and  seemed  to  lose  almost  the  life  that  sustained  her. 
H»  looked  ^  her  in  wonder  ;  it  was  hardly  possible  that 


132  THB  BELLE  01'  LTSHl. 

this  pallid,  drooping,  ghastly-lookiDg  woman  was  his 
stately  mother. 

"Mother,"  he  cried,  "do  not  —  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  look  like  this  —  do  not  look  so  wild,  so  desperate. 
Indeed,  when  you  see  her  —  " 

But  madame  rose  from  her  seat  with  a  gesture  of 
passionate  pride  and  despair ;  she  cried  : 

"  Hush  I     You  do  not  even  understand.     Hush !  " 

"  I  do  understand,"  he  replied,  with  dignity.  "  Since 
I  have  known  you,  mother,  since  I  have  lived  with  you, 
I  have  foreseen  what  pain  it  would  give  you.  I  under- 
itand." 

Then,  with  a  cry  that  seemed  to  cleave  the  air  and  the 
bright  sunlight  and  rise  even  to  the  blue  heavens,  she 
turned  to  him  and  said,  with  a  grand  gesture  of  unutter- 
able despair,  "  You  have  broken  my  heart !  "  And  the 
simple  sorrowful  words  pierced  his  heart. 

He  had  not  known  how  much  he  loved  this  stately, 
imperious  mother  until  now,  and  the  sight  of  her  terrible 
sorrow  was  bitter  to  him.  He  tried  to  console  her;  he 
made  her  sit  down  again,  and  he  knelt  by  her. 

"  You  shall  not  be  angry  with  me,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  had  trouble  and  sorrow  enough  in  your  life. 
Mother,  I  hate  myself  for  bringing  more  to  you.  Speak 
to  me,  talk  to  me!  You  look  so  white  and  wild,  and 
almost  desperate." 

"  You  have  spoiled  my  life,"  she  moaned,  "  blighted 
it  1  ruined  it !  " 

"  I  have  done  wrong,  that  I  do  acknowledge,"  he  said, 
earnestly,  "  but  it  is  not  so  bad  —  it  is  not  indeed.  My 
wife  is  young,  beautiful,  graceful,  and  a  lady." 

"  Your  tphat  f  "  she  cried. 

"  My  wife !  "  he  answered. 

"  Never  let  me  hear  you  use  those  horrible  words 
again,"  she  cried,  "  never  again !  " 

"  But,  mother,  I  must  use  them  when  I  speak  of  her. 
I  can  speak  of  her  by  no  other  title.     She  is  my  wife." 

Madame  raised  her  pale,  haggard  face  to  his. 

"  Oh,  my  son,  my  son,"  she  cried,  "  anything  rather 
than  this.  I  would  almost  as  soon  M'e  had  remained  ic 
fixile ;  nothing  will  be  of  any  use  now.    I  have  fought 


THE  BELLK   OF  LYNN.  133 

against  fate  and  circumstances  for  my  whole  life  long, 
but  I  yield  now;  I  shall  fight  no  more.  Just  at  the 
moment  of  victory !     Oh,  my  son,  my  son !  " 

"  It  may  not  be  so  bad  as  you  think,"  he  said.  "  After 
all,  I  am  a  Soldana.  I  can  stand  on  my  own  title,  my 
own  merits,  my  own  fortune  and  influence,  mother.  I  do 
not  need  the  help  of  others." 

She  wrung  her  hands  with  a  despairing  gesture. 

"  You  have  spoiled  your  life,"  she  cried.  "  The  whole 
fabric  lies  in  ruins  at  your  feet.  You  have  shattered  the 
brightest  dreams,  you  have  destroyed  the  brightest  pic- 
tures.    Oh,  ray  son,  my  son !  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes  while  she  sobbed  out 
her  woe.  It  was  terrible  to  him  to  see  her  tears.  She 
had  been  so  proud,  so  imperial,  he  had  never  seen  her 
weep. 

After  a  time  she  recovered  herself  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  hear  something  of  it, 
Leon.  You  have  married  an  aristocrat,  of  course.  The 
Soldanas  have  never  married  beneath  them ;  they  have 
always  chosen  wives  from  their  own  class.  You,  the  head 
of  your  house,  the  last  of  your  race,  you  have  done  the 
same  ? " 

"  No,  mother,  I  have  not.  My  wife  is  a  lady ;  she  is 
beautiful,  more  beautiful,  perhaps,  than  any  one  you  have 
ever  seen.  She  is  well  educated  and  accomplished.  She 
is  the  sweetest,  the  gentlest  of  human  beings,  but  she  is 
not  what  you  would  call  a  lady  by  birth." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  she  has  a  great  fortune  ? "  said  ma- 
dame. 

"  No,  she  may  have  money  at  some  future  day  but 
nothing  that  we  should  call  a  fortune." 

"  Then,  probably,"  said  madame,  with  icy  dignity, 
"  she  has  great  connections — influential  relations  ?  " 

"  No,"  lie  replied  again  ;  "  she  has  none." 

And  then  he  felt  something  like  fear ;  his  eyes  droop- 
ed ;  he  dared  hardly  look  in  that  proud,  despairing  face. 

"  She  has  no  rank,  no  money,  no  influence  I  Why  did 
you  marry  her,  Leon  ?  " 

The  broad,  beautiful  stretch  of  Allan  Water  seemed  to 
rise  before  him  ;  he  saw  the  green  grass,  the  sunlit  water, 


134  THE   BELLE  OP   LTmST. 

the  green  banks,  and  on  the  banks  he  saw  the  face  and 
figure  of  Lima,  his  young  wife. 

''  Why  did  you  marry  her  ?  "  repeated  madame.  "  An- 
swer me  that  question." 

"  Because  I  loved  her,"  he  replied ;  "  loved  her  with 
all  my  heart." 

An  expression  of  infinite  contempt  crossed  her  face. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  she  said,  bitterly.  "  That 
absurd  nonsense  called  love ;  and  for  that  you  have 
ruined  a  life  that  was  full  of  fairest  promise ;  for  love, 
the  weakest  and  most  foolish  of  passions." 

"  I  found  it  stronger  than  death,  mother,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes,  because  you  yielded  to  it  —  weakly  yielded.  I 
would  have  trampled  a  thousand  such  passions  under  my 
feet.  You  have  sacrificed  the  glory  of  a  whole  race  — 
the  brightness  of  a  whole  life." 

"  Do  not  misjudge  me,  mother,"  he  said,  humbly. 
*'  Remember  that  when  I  did  this,  there  had  never  been 
a  question,  a  hope  of  our  restoration ;  remember  that  I 
had  not  a  hope  beyond  spending  the  remainder  of  my 
life  teaching  at  Lynn,  and  she — oh,  mother !  when  I  saw 
her — when  she  came  into  my  life  so  beautiful,  so  fair,  so 
loving — she  brightened  it  so  that  I  could  not  live  with- 
out her." 

"  Absurd !  "  cried  madame  ;  "  a  man  whose  hopes  and 
thoughts  ought  all  to  be  centered  in  France." 

"  But  France  would  not  have  me,  mother,  in  those 
days,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  mother,  can  you  not  realize  what 
my  life  was  —  so  desolate,  so  lonely ;  no  friends,  no  com- 
panions, no  home,  no  prospects;  spending  the  sunny 
hours  of  the  summer  days  teaching  those  sturdy  British 
boys  ?  No  one  loved  me,  no  one  cared  for  me  ;  no  face 
was  the  brighter  for  my  coming,  no  tears  would  have 
been  shed  for  my  death." 

"  Leon,"  cried  madame,  sternly,  "  I  am  afraid  you  are 
sentimental." 

"  Are  you  not,  mother  ?  "  he  asked,  gently. 

"  I  hope  not.  I  hope  to  Heaven  not  1 "  she  cried, 
angrily.     "  Spare  me  all  that  nonsense,  if  you  please." 

He  bowed,  but  went  on  : 

"  You  can  imagine  what  a  change  it  made  in  my  life 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  136 

when  she  came  into  it ;  she  brightened  it.  I  believe  that 
in  my  cold,  sorrowful  exile  I  had  not  really  lived  until  I 
knew  her,  and  I  learned  to  love  her — forgive  me,  mother 
—  so  well  —  " 

"  Tell  me  the  facts ;  spare  me  the  love  !  "  cried  mad- 
ame. 

There  was  a  soft,  warm  light  in  his  keen  graj  eyes 
that  told  how  the  topic  touched  him. 

"  I  conld  not  have  loved  an  ordinary  girl,"  he  contin- 
ued ;  "  but  she  might  have  been  a  young  princess,  she  is 
so  fair,  so  dainty.  She  is  so  beautiful  that  people  call  her 
*  The  Belle  of  Lynn.'  "  His  heart  warmed  to  the  theme. 
"  That  was  how  I  first  came  to  hear  of  her.  She  was 
called  the  belle  of  Lynn,  and,  mother,  listen :  her  home 
lies  close  to  a  broad,  beautiful  mere,  known  as  Allan 
Water ;  it  was  on  its  banks  I  met  her  first. 

"  You  will  forgive  me  when  you  see  her ;  her  eyes  are 
beautiful  and  blue,  like  wet  violets;  her  hair  has  the 
sheen  of  gold ;  her  face  is  the  sweetest  and  fairest  that 
poet  could  paint : 

"  '  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
None  so  fair  as  she.'  " 

"  I  want  facts,  as  I  told  you,  and  not  sentiment ;  still 
less,  poetry,"  said  madame,  sternly. 

"  Oh,  mother,  were  you  never  young?  " 

Madame  interrupted  him. 

"  I  repeat  that  I  will  not  listen  to  nonsense.  It  is  of 
the  follies  of  your  youth  we  are  speaking,  and  not  of 
mine." 

His  face  flushed  hotly,  but  he  did  his  best  to  exercise 
self-control ;  her  words  were  hard  to  bear. 

"  Mother,  do  not  be  so  hard,  so  cruel ! "  he  pleaded. 
"  I  am  quite  sure  that  when  you  see  my  wife  you  will 
love  her." 

The  fine  scorn  and  bitter  contempt  on  madame's  face 
were  not  good  to  see. 

"  You  forget  one  thing,  my  son,"  she  continued :  "  you 
have  gone  into  raptures  over  a  pretty  face,  you  have 
•hown'a  great  deal  of  shallow  sentiment,  but  you  have 


136  THE    BELLB   OF   LYNN. 

not  told  me  with  whom  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Soldant 
has  allied  himself." 

"  What  will  you  say,  mother,  when  you  learn  that  I 
have  married — a  miller's  daughter?"  And  he  turned 
away  lest  he  should  read  too  plainly  the  wrath  in  hit 
mother's  face. 


CHAPTER  XXYH. 

Neveb  was  passion  seen  so  terrible  as  that  which 
gleamed  on  madame's  face. 

"  A  miller's  daughter,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  A  com- 
mendable alliance,  surely !  The  last  of  the  Soldanas,  and 
a  miller's  daughter !  Had  you  lost  your  brains  or  your 
senses  when  you  did  this  ?  " 

"  Neither,  mother ;  I  had  simply  lost  my  heart,"  he 
replied. 

She  surveyed  him  with  infinite  scorn. 

"  A  fine  ending  to  all  my  plans  and  hopes  for  you," 
she  said.  "  How  could  you  be  so  cruel,  Leon — so  unjust 
to  me  ? " 

"  Do  me  justice,  mother.  Remember  that  I  had  no 
idea  of  what  was  about  to  happen,"  he  answered. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  she  cried,  with  hasty  impatience ; 
"  if  you  had  foreseen  this  change,  should  you  then  have 
contracted  this  unfortunate  marriage  ?  " 

He  thought  for  some  minutes  before  he  answered  her. 
He  loved  Lima,  but  this  new  life  with  its  pleasures  and 
honors,  was  very  dear  to  him. 

"  Answer  me !  "  cried  madame,  imperiously. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  slowly,  "  I  do  not  think  I  should. 
If  1  had  foreseen  this  great  change  in  my  life,  I  should 
have  left  Lynn.     I  should  not  have  married." 

Her  face  cleared  when  she  heard  him  say  this. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  the  sense  to  acknowledge  that,*' 
she  said. 

She  seemed  utterly  bewildered  and  discomforted,  quite 
unable  to  rally  from  what  seemed  to  her  the  greatest  blow 
she  had  ever  received.  After  these  few  words  had  been 
spoken^  she  sat  quite  silent  for  some  minutes  brooding 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  137 

over  her  own  thoughts,  and  madame's  face  was  not 
pleasant  to  see. 

The  young  count,  with  his  usual  light-heartedness, 
began  to  recover  a  little  now  that  the  ordeal  was  half 
over.  He  had  at  least  gone  through  the  worst  part  of 
it ;  the  news  was  told. 

She  would  recover  in  time,  he  said  to  himself,  and 
when  she  saw  Lima  all  would  be  well.  She  could  not 
fail  to  be  won  by  that  sweet,  winsome  face.  This  cloud 
would  soon  pass.  He  felt  some  regret  that  his  mother's 
plans  had  been  so  baffled,  and  he  thought  with  sorrow  of 
all  the  glories  that  might  have  been  his  —  not  that  he 
loved  Lima  less,  but  that  he  saw  so  plainly  what  his 
career  might  have  been  with  all  the  advantages  his  moth- 
er could  have  secured  for  him. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  think  of  it  now,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  and,  after  all,  I  have  the  dearest  little  wife  in  the 
world." 

Madame  la  Comtesse  did  not  leave  the  room ;  when 
she  finished  speaking  she  retained  her  seat  near  the  win- 
dow, and  seemed  buried  in  thought.  Her  son  seemed  to 
think  it  better  to  preserve  the  silence  than  break  it. 

"  It  is  a  strange  turn  for  Fate  to  have  taken  in  any 
man's  life,"  he  thought. 

Then  the  sunny  skies  of  France  faded;  the  silver 
orange-blossoms  and  the  fountains  vanished.  It  was 
moonlight,  and  there  was  hardly  a  ripple  on  the  shining 
breast  of  Allan  Water  ;  the  rays  of  the  moon  silvered 
the  great  lime  trees,  and  he  was  rowing  swiftly  and 
silently  across  the  mere.  So  vividly  did  the  picture 
rise  before  him  that  he  could  almost  hear  the  strokes  of 
the  oars. 

A  sweet,  clear  voice  came  floating  from  the  casement 
window  ;  he  could  hear  the  words : 

"  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  80  sad  as  she. 

That  was  his  dream  ;  the  reality  was  that  he  started  to 
find  his  mother  looking  at  him,  her  dark  eyes,  fall  of  fire 
4nd  impatience,  fixed  full  upon  him. 


138  THE  BELLI   OF   LYNN. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  "  I  want  yoa  to  make  me  a  promise. 
Let  this  most  absurd  of  all  marriages  remain  a  secret 
between  ns  for,  say,  at  least  six  weeks.  I  have  an  idea.  I 
will  not  tell  you  what  it  is,  but  I  shall  act  upon  it.  In 
the  meantime,  will  you  promise  me  not  to  speak  of  it  to 
any  creature  living  ?  " 

"  I  promise,"  he  replied,  thinking  that  it  was  not 
much  tor  her  to  ask  him  after  the  pain  he  had  caused 
her. 

"  Remember  what  you  are  promising,"  she  said,  stern- 
ly. "  Do  not  speak  lightly,  Leon.  You  gave  me  your 
word  of  honor  that  during  the  next  six  weeks  you  will 
not  mention  the  fact  of  your  marriage  to  any  creature 
living,  on  or  under  any  consideration.  When  you  have 
kept  the  secret  so  long,  six  more  weeks  will  not  hurt 
you." 

"  I  give  my  promise*  mother,"  he  said,  "  on  the  faith 
and  honor  of  a  gentleman." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  she.  "  "We  will  not  discuss  it 
even  between  ourselves.  I  must  exact  another  promise 
—  that  is,  you  will  not  during  those  six  weeks  go  tc 
England.  Of  course,  I  cannot  ask  you  not  to  write  to 
the  person  there  —  but  you  will  not  go  ?  " 

"  I  will  not,  mother,"  he  said. 

"I  am  more  content,"  said  Madame  la  Comtesse. 
"  This  has  been  a  cruel  little  interlude,  Leon.  You  must 
make  up  to  me  for  the  heartache  you  have  given  me. 
Come  with  me  to-night  to  Madame  de  Sante's  ball  ? " 

"  I  will  go  with  pleasure,"  he  said,  only  too  delighted 
to  bring  back  a  smile  to  her  face. 

"  This,  you  will  understand,  Leon,"  she  said,  "  is  a 
truce  between  us — a  truce  for  six  weeks ;  then  there  will 
be  active  warfare." 

"  There  can  never  be  war  between  you  and  me,  moth- 
er," he  said,  kissing  the  white,  jewelled  hands  that  she 
held  out  with  more  sign  of  relenting  than  slie  had 
hitherto  shown. 

"  A  six  weeks'  truce,"  she  said ;  "  then  I  shall  follow 
out  the  workings  of  my  idea." 

"  What  will  that  result  in,  mother  ?  "  he  asked  with  a 
mile. 


THB   BELLE  OP   LTNH.  13d 

**  Something  that  will  astonish  you  very  much,"  an- 
swered Madame  la  Comtesse ;  "  but  we  will  say  no  more 
DOW — silence  for  six  weeks." 

Then,  in  her  most  stately  manner,  madame  left  the 
room.  The  young  count  turned  to  that  refuge  for  the 
<^e8titute  —  a  cigar ;  and  as  he  watched  the  rings  of  the 
olue  smoke  ascend,  he  wondered  much  what  his  mother 
could  mean.  A  six  weeks'  truce !  Well,  that  would  not 
matter  so  much.  He  must  write  again  to  Lima,  and  tell 
her  that  circumstances  had  chained  him  for  six  weeks 
longer,  and  then  he  would  go  and  bring  her  home. 

But  although  he  loved  her,  he  did  not  look  forward  to 
this  bringing  her  home  with  any  great  rapture  of  delight. 
It  would  all  be  so  strange,  so  novel  to  her.  It  would  be  so 
long  before  she  could  take  her  place  as  Lady  Chatelaine. 
Her,  the  sweet,  gentle  Lima,  who  had  never  known  any- 
thing much  more  stirring  than  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
his  mother  would  never  quite  agree  with.  Indeed,  there 
could  never  be  two  mistresses  in  one  house.  Either  his 
wife  must  reign  or  his  mother.  His  wife  ought  to  be 
mistress  and  ruler ;  he  knew  that  perfectly  well,  but  he 
knew  also  that  she  must  first  be  taught.  He  saw  many 
perplexities  when  he  did  bring  Lima  home,  but  he  must 
trust  to  fortune.  He  was  most  thankful  that  he  had 
spoken  to  his  mother ;  the  weight  had  gone  from  his 
heart  and  mind  now.  Madame  la  Comtesse  wore  a  superb 
costume  for  the  ball.  When  her  toilet  was  completed 
she  went  to  her  son's  room ;  she  loved  the  words  in 
which  he  praised  her. 

"  Why,  mother,  you  look  superbly  handsome,"  he  said ; 
"  give  me  purple  velvet  and  diamonds  above  everything 
else." 

She  did  what  was  very  unusual  with  her,  for  she  was 
not  at  all  a  demonstrative  woman  She  laid  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"  I  am  proud  of  my  son,"  she  said,  and  she  had  some 
reason  for  her  words. 

Never  did  the  young  count  look  more  handsome, 
more  gallant ;  the  ease  and  grace  of  his  figure,  the  beauty 
of  his  face,  the  charm  of  his  gracious  manner  were  all 
most  attractive.    He  wasstrnck  by  the  ease  with  whioh 


140  THB  BELLE  09  LYKK.  ' 

his  mother  had  forgotten,  or  seemed  to  hare  forgotten, 
their  very  unpleasant  interview.  He  would  have  been 
surprised  if  he  had  known  that  she  had  thought  of  noth- 
ing else,  and  had  concentrated  the  whole  power  of  her 
mind  and  thoughts  on  that  one  fact  alone.  No  one  who 
*aw  the  proud  patrician,  with  her  queenly  carriage  and 
imperial  bearing,  could  have  guessed  that  her  mind  was 
racked  with  pain,  and  her  soul  darkened  with  a  black, 
^  jgly  shadow. 

It  was  a  brilliant  ball,  as  those  given  by  Mme.  de  Sante 
always  were.  Some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  brilliant 
women  in  Paris  were  present.  The  young  count  enjoyed 
a  ball ;  his  whole  artistic  nature  delighted  in  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  scene,  in  the  superb  flowers,  the  rich 
dresses,  the  magnificent  jewels,  the  beautiful  faces  ;  but 
to-night  he  saw  a  picture  that  woke  all  the  poetry  within 
him  into  sudden  life. 

Pretty  little  anterooms,  cozily  furnished,  opened  out 
on  both  sides  of  the  ball-room — rooms  that  were  daintily 
arranged,  with  plenty  of  flowers  and  lounges ;  they  were 
separated  from  the  ball-room  by  rich  curtains  of  crimson 
velvet,  which  were  drawn  to  either  side,  forming  an  arch. 

The  young  count  was  looking  carelessly  along  the  ball- 
room when  he  saw  this  picture,  which  at  first  meant 
nothing  more  than  a  picture  to  him.  The  crimson  vel- 
vet curtains  were  parted,  and  in  the  archway  stood  a 
young  girl.  She  was  tall  and  slender ;  a  rich  dress  of 
primrose-colored  brocade  fell  round  her  in  folds  that 
would  have  charmed  a  sculptor;  clouds  of  white  lace 
were  caught  up  by  sprays  of  Mareschal  Neil  roses ;  mag- 
nificent diamonds  shone  in  her  dark  hair  and  round  her 
white  throat ;  her  dress  was  after  the  latest  fashion — the 
arms  bare  almost  to  the  shoulder;  and  the  first  thing 
that  drew  his  attention  was  the  whiteness  and  beauty  of 
the  rounded  arms  and  perfect  hands;  then  he  saw  her 
face,  and  its  beauty  startled  him.  Proud,  rare,  flashing 
loveliness  that  had  in  it  something  half-defiant,  half- 
imperious  —  a  face  that  Titian  would  have  painted,  with 
its  rich,  rare  coloring ;  dark,  bright  eyes,  black,  yet  with 
ffolden  light  in  their  depths,  fringedf  with  dark,  silken 
JtuteBy  tbat  were  a  beaatj  in  themaelvea;  a  moatb  that 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  141 

would  have  made  any  woman's  face  rarely  lovely — it  had 
the  freshness,  the  bloom,  the  sweetness  of  a  pomegranate 
blossom,  with  lines  and  curves  of  unequaled  grace;  a 
round,  white  throat,  and  a  beautiful  neck  and  shoulders, 
formed  a  picture  rarely  seen. 

"  I  call  that  a  dream,"  said  the  young  count  to  himself. 

He  watched  her  intently.  She  seemed  to  be  looking 
for  some  one.  She  glanced  eagerly  up  and  down  the 
room,  then  slowly  withdrew. 

He  saw  the  last  gleam  of  the  diamonds,  the  last  glim- 
mer of  the  wonderful  brocade,  and  he  roused  himself 
with  a  sigh.     Surely  he  had  been  dreaming  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

Foe  some  time  the  young  count  did  not  again  see  the 
beautiful  picture,  as  in  his  mind  he  called  her;  but  a 
pause  came  in  the  dancing,  and  he  saw  her  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  talking  to  Mme.  de  Sante. 

If  he  had  thought  her  beautiful  before,  how  much 
more  lovely  she  looked  now  that  she  was  talking,  laugh- 
ing, and  animated,  her  eyes  shining  like  stars,  the  curves 
of  her  lips  so  graceful  as  she  smiled.  As  he  looked  at 
her  he  thought  of  Lima,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  surely 
she  and  this  stranger  must  be  the  two  fairest  women  in 
the  wide  world.  The  contrast  between  them  was  great ; 
even  as  he  looked  at  this  young  face  he  felt  the  different 
influences  of  their  beauty. 

There  was  a  sweetness  and  gentleness  in  Lima's  face 
that  instantly  brought  all  good  and  holy  thoughts  into 
the  minds  of  those  who  looked  upon  her.  It  was  not  so 
with  the  face  before  him;  its  radiance,  its  lovehness,  its 
pride  were  conspicuous,  but  it  gave  no  impression  of 
goodness.  There  was  something  in  it  —  he  could  not  tell 
what ;  in  fact,  he  never  knew  —  but  there  was  something 
that  left  upon  him  an  impression  the  reverse  of  good. 
He  tried  to  analyze  it,  but  found  that  impossible.  An 
hour  later  he  found  himself  with  his  mother  at  the  end 
of  the  ball-room.     He  was  not  dancing,  but  the  band  wag 


143  THE  BELLS  OF  LTNK. 

playing  a  delicions  waltz,  and  again  he  saw  the  gleam  of 
the  primrose  brocade  and  the  shining  of  the  diamonds. 

"  Mother,"  he  asked,  quickly  and  suddenly,  "  do  you 
know  who  that  young  lady  is  ?  " 

"  Which  young  lady,  Leon  ?    There  are  so  many." 

"  One  in  a  dress  just  the  color  of  English  primroies," 
he  replied. 

"  English  primroses  ?  "  laughed  madame.  "  What  a 
comparison ! 

She  spoke  coldly,  but  her  face  flushed,  and  a  light  as 
of  triumph  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  She  wears  diamonds,"  he  continued,  "  and  carries  • 
bouquet  of  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses." 

"  Quite  a  picture,"   commented  madame. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  said  when  I  saw  her,"  cried  the 
young  couDt.  "  See,  mother,  she  is  standing  by  the  great 
statue  of  Flora." 

Madame  la  Comtesse  carefully  repressed  all  signs  of 
emotion  ;  she  answered  indifferently  enough. 

"  That  is  Mademoiselle  Helene  de  Saison  ;  "  and  then, 
as  though  the  subject  were  one  of  perfect  indifference  to 
her,  she  turned  away.  It  was  the  most  judicious  thing 
ehe  could  have  done.  If  she  had  remained  he  would 
have  overwhelmed  her  with  questions ;  as  it  was,  she  left 
him  to  think. 

And  he  did  think  many  things. 

So  this  was  Helene  de  Saison — the  girl  whom  even  the 
beautiful  empress  said  would  be  a  most  suitable  match 
for  him  —  the  girl  whom  his  mother  wished  with  her 
whole  heart  that  he  would  marry,  and  if  he  had  never 
seen  Lima,  if  he  had  never  wandered  to  the  banks  of 
Allan  Water,  he  would  have  been  free  to  marry  this 
beautiful  creature. 

Helene  de  Saison  —  the  most  beautiful  girl  and  the 
richest  heirese  in  France  —  the  girl  who  had  it  in  her 
power  to  make  her  husband  one  of  the  foremost  men  in 
France!  Still  no  feeling  of  regret  over  his  marriage 
came  to  his  mind  or  passed  through  his  heart.  He  was 
simply  full  of  wonder.  He  had  not  paid  much  attention 
to  ms  mother's  desoription  o|  Helene  de  Saison :  indeed, 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYITN.  143 

he  had  smiled  to  himself,  thinking  it  exaggerated;  he 
found  it  fell  short. 

He  watched  her ;  every  gesture  was  quick,  proud,  and 
graceful  He  smiled  again  when  he  thought  how  much 
nke  liis  mother  she  was — and  just  as  proud. 

"  They  would  agree  well,"  he  thought  to  himself ;  and 
then  she  was  gone.  He  could  watch  her  no  longer,  nor 
did  he  see  her  again  that  night.  A  curious  calm  seemed 
to  fall  over  him ;  he  did  not  care  to  cance  any  more ;  by 
a  strange  fantasy  all  the  music  played  seemed  to  run  into 
the  old-fashioned  air  of  the  banks  of  "Allan  Water.'* 
Whether  waltz,  quadrille,  or  galop  were  played,  he  oould 
hear  in  his  own  fancy  the  soft,  sweet  strain  of  the  bttdad. 
Then  the  words  would  rise  to  his  lips  with  such  foroa 
that  at  times  he  was  compelled  to  repeat  them. 

"  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her. 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  sad  as  she." 

Why  should  he  be  compelled,  as  it  were,  to  repeat 
those  lines  ?  why  should  they  haunt  him  any  more  than 
the  other  lines  of  the  poem  ?  He  was  not  false — he  had 
no  thought  of  being  false ;  how  absurd,  in  the  midst  of  a 
brilliant  Parisian  ball-room,  to  have  such  fancies. 

He  was  almost  glad  when  the  ball  was  over;  yet  it 
struck  him  as  being  rather  strange  that  his  mother  had 
not  made  the  least  attempt  to  introduce  him  to  the  girl 
whom  she  had  been  so  anxious  he  should  marry.  He 
thought  slie  might  have  made  some  little  effort,  but  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  given  up  all  idea  of 
It,  so  that  an  introduction  was  not  needed. 

It  was  strange,  too,  that  as  they  drove  home,  Madame 
la  Comtesse  never  mentioned  her.  She  discoursed  with 
great  animation  on  the  beautiful  women  present,  but  the 
name  of  Helene  de  Saison  never  crossed  her  lips.  It 
was  in  sheer  desperation  that  he  said,  at  last : 

"  I  thought  Mademoiselle  de  Saison  the  most  beautiful 
girl  there,"  he  said. 

"  Did  jou?  "  replied  madame,  indifferently. 

"  I  admired  her  toilet  more  than  any  other,"  he  flai<l, 
iOuging  to  hear  something  more  of  her. 


144  THE  BELLE   OP   LYNN. 

"  I  did  not  notice  it,"  said  madame.  "  I  thought  the 
English  embassadress  the  best-dressed  woman  in  the 
room." 

No  other  word  of  "  la  belle  Helene." 

"  Evidently  my  mother  has  given  up  all  thought  of 
it,"  he  said  to  himself,  while  madame  smiled  —  a  quiet, 
stealthy  smile  that  meant  much. 

He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Lima  the  next  day.  He 
bad  an  uneasy,  unsettled  feeling  upon  him,  as  though  he 
had  unconsciously  done  her  some  wrong. 

The  next  day  brought  a  great  delight — an  invitation  to 
a  ball  given  by  the  emperor  at  the  magnificent  Palace  of 
the  Tuileries.  The  young  count  had  never  been  more 
interested.  He  wondered  if  "  la  belle  Helene  "  would 
be  there.     He  longed  to  ask  madame,  but  did  not  like. 

Shyly  enough,  at  last,  he  said : 

"  Mother,  will  your  Princess  Helene  be  at  the  em- 
peror's ball  ? " 

In  her  whole  life  madame  never  felt  such  a  thrill  of 
triumph.  He  had  been  thinking  about  her  evidently, 
and,  from  his  question,  desired  to  meet  her  again. 

"  Why  do  you  call  Mademoiselle  de  Saison  '  my  Prin- 
cess Helene  ? '  "  she  asked,  and  the  tones  of  her  voice 
made  the  young  man's  face  flush. 

"  The  name  suits  her,"  he  said.  "  I  always  call  her 
*  Princess  Helene '  in  my  thoughts." 

"  1  did  not  know  that  she  was  in  your  thoughts.  Why 
call  her  *  my  princess  ? '  " 

"  She  seems  to  be  associated  in  my  mind  with  you," 
he  replied  ;  "  but  I  cannot  tell  why." 

"  It  is  an  unmeaniug  phrase,"  said  madame.  "  In 
your  place,  I  should  not  repeat  it." 

"  Princess  Helene  ought  to  have  been  her  name,"  he 
repeated,  good-humoredly.  "  Why,  mother,  she  is  the 
ideal  of  a  princess." 

Madame  made  no  answer;  she  would  not,  by  one 
word,  encourage  him  by  speaking  of  her  favorite. 

"  You  do  not  tell  me,  mother,  if  Princess  Helene  is 
going !  "  he  said. 

**  I  do  mot  know,"  was  madame'a  answer.  "  I  cannot 
CTen  form  an  opinion."  , 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  145 

She  would  not  ask  even  why  he  wished  to  know, 
which  he  had  quite  expected.  He  thought  a  great  deal 
of  the  forthcoming  ball.  He  wondered  much  if  he 
should  see  her ;  if  there  would  be  any  introduction ;  if 
she  would  talk  to  him  ;  and  when  the  evening  of  the 
ball  came,  he  felt  in  some  vague  fashion  that  a  new 
epoch  in  his  life  had  arrived  —  that  a  new  and  novel 
sensation  had  come  to  him. 

The  ball,  as  was  usual  at  that  brilliant  court,  was  mag- 
nificent. The  empress  had  never  looked  more  beautiful ; 
there  was  a  brilliant  throng  of  guests;  the  music  was 
perfect ;  the  lights  and  flowers  beautiful.  It  was  like  a 
glimpse  of  fairy-land,  and  the  young  count  was  lost  in 
admiration  of  the  magnificence  of  the  scene.  Then  again 
he  saw  her,  but  to-day  she  looked  paler  and  gi'aver ;  she 
was  with  her  aunt,  Mme.  de  Yesey.  He  knew  that  it 
was  not  in  accordance  with  French  custom  for  a  young 
lady  to  appear  in  public  or  to  dress  with  such  magnifi- 
cence. He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  mademoiselle  was 
allowed  to  depart  from  the  strict  laws  laid  down  on  the 
subject  on  account  of  having  spent  much  time  in  travel- 
ing, and  then  on  account  of  her  position. 

How  or  by  whom  he  was  introduced  to  her  he  hardly 
remembered.  It  was  not  by  his  mother,  nor  did  he  guess 
that  his  mother  had  not  lost  sight  of  him  since  he  enter- 
ed tiie  ball-room,  and  had  most  carefully  "  led  up "  to 
this  event.  It  was  most  decidely  a  new  sensation  to  have 
those  dark,  beautiful  eyes  flashing  for  one  moment  into 
his,  then  drooping  as  they  had  never  done  before.  She 
seemed  to  be  all  radiance ;  the  light  shone  in  her  jewels ; 
her  dress  had  in  it  something  of  the  rich  gleam  of  sun- 
beams. As  he  looked  at  her  he  thought  of  the  other 
fairer,  sweeter  face  that  he  had  seen  first  on  the  banks  of 
Allan  "Water.  He  asked  for  the  honor  of  one  dance, 
almost  hoping  she  would  decline,  for  he  had  a  certain 
sense  of  uneasiness  in  her  presence,  although  he  had  so 
much  longed  to  see  her.  It  was  not  at  all  that  he  was  in 
love  with  her  — he  had  no  thought  of  love ;  it  was  a  feel- 
ing that,  in  some  aerious  way,  their  destinies  were 
crossed 


14^  THE  BELLB   OF   LYNN. 

Princess  Helene,  as  he  called  her,  was  tired,  and  did 
not  care  to  dance  much. 

"  Let  us  find  my  aunt,"  she  said.  "  I  should  like  to 
look  at  some  of  those  pictures." 

But  finding  Mme.  de  Vesey  was  a  more  difficult 
matter  than  they  had  anticipated ;  in  fact,  in  time  they 
had  forgotten  why  they  started.  Wandering  through 
those  magnificent  rooms,  they  talked  at  ease.  The  young 
count  forgot  his  temporary  enibarrassment,  his  strange 
sensation  of  novelty,  and  lost  himself  in  delight.  Helene 
de  Saison  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  talkers ;  every  one 
agreed  that  it  was  a  treat  to  listen  to  her  conversation. 
There  was  no  poetry,  no  spirituality  about  it ;  girls  of  her 
temperament  and  character  have  seldom  much  of  either 
of  those  qualities,  but  there  was  a  verve,  a  fire  and  origi- 
nality about  it  that  charmed  every  man  who  talked  to 
ter.  A  touch  of  satire,  a  flash  of  wit,  a  brilliant  repartee, 
a  certain  fearlessness  of  ideas,  picturesque  language,  a 
natural  flow  of  eloquence,  made  the  charm  of  her  con- 
versation. 

When  the  young  count  went  home  that  evening  it  waa 
not  of  her  beauty  he  thought,  but  of  her  wonderful  bril- 
liancy. He  had  not  known  that  such  women  as  Heleno 
de  SaiBOQ  existed.    She  was  a  new  revelation  to  him. 


THB  BELLE   OF   LYNN.  147 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


A  ifAGNiFioENT  rooQi  in  a  magnificent  house  in  the 
Champs  Elvees,  a  room  furnished  with  such  true  artistic 
taste,  such  luxury,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  look  around  it ;  a 
room  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  innumerable  flowers, 
bright  and  charming ;  the  large  windows  overlooking 
bright  'parterres  of  flowers  and  tall,  spreading,  green 
trees.  Some  people  said  the  Hotel  de  Saison  was  one  of 
the  brightest  houses  in  Paris.  A  well-filled  balcony  of 
flowers  stood  before  each  window,  varied  in  hue ;  gleams 
of  rich  gold,  of  deep  purple,  of  crimson  and  white, 
seemed  to  attract  one;  a  house  that  seemed  to  have  a 
smile  on  the  front  of  it. 

In  this  magnificent  saloon,  Helene  de  Saison  sat  alone. 
It  was  the  forenoon  of  a  clear  September  day,  and  the 
bright  sunbeams  made  the  lovely  room  more  cheerful 
still.  Certainly,  the  most  beautiful  object  in  that  room 
was  the  girl  herself.  She  had  been  reading,  but  the 
volume  she  had  held  in  her  hands  had  fallen  to  the 
ground  unknown  to  her,  and  she  was  thinking  deeply ;  a 
smile,  sweet  and  tender,  parted  her  lips ;  in  her  eyes  waa 
the  light  that  never  yet  lay  on  land  or  sea. 

Certainly  a  most  beautiful  face,  a  face  full  of  pride 
and  passion,  but  there  was  in  it  something  that  would 
make  one  hesitate  before  trusting  her  absolutely. 

In  the  curves  of  that  beautiful  mouth  was  there  a  line 
which  suggested  cruelty  — selfishness?  In  those  brilliant 
eyes  was  there  a  gleam  of  pride  that  was  dangerous? 
What  was  it  that  dissatisfied  a  keen  reader  of  character 
and  sent  him  away  not  well  content  %  Just  now  there 
•was  a  calm  over  the  beautiful  face ;  the  parted  lips  were 
smiling;  the  girl's  thoughts  were  deep  and  pleasant.  She 
looked  up  when  the  door  opened  and  Mme.  de  Vesey 
entered. 

"  It  is  not  often  that  I  find  you  dreaming." 

Helene  looked  up  with  a  smile  »ud  sigh. 


148  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

"That  is,  if  you  but  understood  it,  aunt,  the  first 
dream  of  my  life." 

"  I  hope  it  was  a  happy  one,  my  dear,"  said  the  elder 
lady,  smiling. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  ball  last  night,"  she  continued, 
"and.  Aunt  Emilie,  I  have  seen  a  real  living  hero  at 
last." 

Mine,  de  Vesey  was  evidently  accustomed  to  receiving 
startling  communications  from  her  niece.  She  seldom 
expressed  any  curiosity  or  alarm  at  any  of  the  theories 
her  niece  advanced. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  I  have  seen  a  real  living  hero, 
ami  I  thought  the  age  of  heroes  was  past.  I  have  seen  a 
Prince  Charming,  and  I  thought  all  the  Prince  Charm- 
lugs  were  dead." 

"  Who  is  it,  Helene  ? "  asked  Mme.  de  Vesey. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Soldana,"  she  replied.  "  I 
talked  to  him  for  a  long  time  last  evening ;  he  told  me 
all  the  story  of  his  exile." 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  a  hero  ? "  asked  Mme.  de 
Yesey. 

"  Why,"  repeated  mademoiselle,  with  a  gleam  in  her 
dark  eyes,  "  because  he  is  one ;  he  is  handsome — I  do  not 
believe  that  in  all  France  you  would  find  a  more  hand- 
some man — he  is  gallant,  and  princely  in  his  bearing." 

"  All  that  does  not  make  him  a  hero,"  interrupted 
madame. 

"  It  does  in  my  eyes,"  said  Helene,  in  her  most  superb 
fashion. 

"  Scarcely,  in  the  eyes  of  others,"  she  replied. 

"Have  you  no  better  reason  for  calling  him  a  hero 
than  physical  beauty  and  a  charming  presence  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  has  been  in  exile.  Fancy  living  all  those 
years  in  exile.  He  loves  England,  though ;  he  told  me 
that  the  first  night  he  saw  me.  He  was  struck  by  the 
dress  I  wore ;  he  said  that  it  was  the  exact  shade  of  an 
English  primrose.  I  am  glad  he  went  to  England,  aunt, 
and  I  am  glad  that  I  speak  English." 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand  that  the  young  count  is  a 
hero  because  be  has  been  in  exile,"  laughed  Mme.  de 
Veeejr. 


THE  BELLK   OF   LYNN.  149 

"  I  think  him  so ;  but  the  chief  reason  I  have,  after  all, 
auntie,  for  thinking  him  a  hero,  is  that  he  is  the  only 
man  I  have  ever  dreamed  about  after  a  ball.  I  was  much 
struck  with  all  he  told  me.  At  first  he  seemed  shy  and 
embarrassed,  then,  when  we  began  to  talk  about  England, 
it  was  quite  another  thing.  He  did  not  know  that  I  had 
been  there." 

"  You  like  the  young  count,  then  ? "  said  Mme.  de 
Vesey. 

"  Yes,  very  much,"  replied  Helene,  frankly.  "  I  have 
met  no  one  in  society  who  has  pleased  me  more.  Aunt," 
she  continued,  "  it  is  a  strange  thing,  but  when  I  saw 
Mosieur  le  Comte  I  said  to  myself,  '  if  ever  I  marry,  that 
is  the  kind  of  man  I  should  like  to  marry.'  " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Mme.  de  Vesey,  innocently,  as  thoagh 
she  had  not  discussed  such  a  marriage  twenty  times  over 
with  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Soldana. 

"  How  differently  marriages  are  managed  in  England," 
said  Helene,  dreamily.  "  I  have  just  been  reading  an 
English  novel ;  Mrs.  Gaskell's  '  Daughters  and  Wives.* 
I  do  not  know  whether,  after  all,  their  system  is  not 
the  best." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  madame,  with  a  smile, 
which  fortunately  her  proud  and  beautiful  niece  did 
not  see. 

"  I  do.  A  French  girl  has  no  chance  of  pleasing 
herself;  she  has  to  marry  the  man  whom  her  parents 
and  friends  select  for  her ;  the  last  thing  thought  of  is 
whether  she  will  like  him  or  not.  It  seems  merely  a 
matter  of  business,  that  he  has  so  much  money,  and  she 
has  so  much,  and  that  the  two  sums  will  insure  com- 
petency. 

"  I  think  a  little  romance  creeps  in  every  now  and 
then,"   said  madame. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  romance,"  said  the  young  heiress, 
frankly,  "  but  it  strikes  me  that  we  could  imitate  the 
English  fashion  with  advantage." 

"  I  think,  my  dear,  it  all  comes  to  pretty  much  the 
same  kind  of  thing  in  the  end,"  said  madame,  cynically. 

"  I  think — mind,  Aunt  Emilie,  I  am  not  quite  snre^ 
bat  I  think  I  like  the  English  style  best" 


150  THB   BELLE   OF    LYNN. 

"  Since  when  ?  "  asked  maaame,  simply. 

The  color  deepened  on  the  beautiful  face  —  that  waa  a 
significant  question  —  "  Since  when  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  this  morning,"  she  replied, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  manner  in  which  she  was  be- 
traying herself  and  the  subject  of  her  own  thoughts. 

"  In  France,"  said  Mmo.  de  Vesey,  "  when  a  mother 
has  a  daughter  to  marry,  she  looks  carefully  around 
amongst  her  neighbors  and  friends.  She  sees  some  young 
man  whom  she  thinks  eligible ;  she  goes  to  his  mother, 
tells  her  what  her  daughter's  fortune  will  be,  and  the 
whole  matter  can  be  settled  between  them.  That  is  the 
ordinary  routine  —  there  are  exceptional  cases ;  there  are 
cases  even  where  the  young  people  have  met  as  strangers, 
and  have  fallen  in  love  with  each  other,  and  have 
married  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  all  their  friends  and 
relatives.  I  am  afraid  you  sympathize  just  a  little  with 
that;"  for  Helene  looked  up  with  a  gleam  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do,"  said  the  heiress  of  the  De  Saisons. 

"  In  England,"  continued  madame,  "  a  very  different 
order  of  things  exists.  There  young  people  have  more 
liberty ;  they  meet  frequently  in  society ;  there  is  less 
restraint.  You,  Helene,  have  more  liberty  than  any 
other  French  young  lady  whom  I  know.  The  young 
people  in  England  meet  continually;  they  sing  ana 
dance  together;  they  go  to  parties  and  balls;  the  conse- 
quence is,  they  fall  in  love  with  each  other,  sometimes 
wisely,  sometimes  foolishly ;  they  choose  for  themselves, 
but  in  England  there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule.  There 
are  match-making  mothers  who  look  out  for  the  most 
eligible  men,  and  daughters  who  marry  for  money.  Each 
system  has  its  advantages." 

"  I  prefer  the  English,"  said  Helene  de  Saison,  in  her 
most  decided  fashion. 

"Then  it  will  be  useless  for  me  to  offer  any  sug- 
gestions," said  Mme.  de  Vesey.  "  There  will  be  no  ar- 
ranging an  alliance  for  you,  Helene  ;  on  the  other  hand, 
I  advise  you  strongly  not  to  fall  in  love." 

"  Why  not,  aunt  ?  "  she  asked. 

*'  Why,  my  dear,  you  would  suffer ;  your  nature  iB  not 


THE  BELLE   OF  LYNN.  151 

one  of  those,  simple  and  sweet,  that  pass  throogh  life 
easily ;  you  can  suffer  keenest  pain  and  keenest  oleasure. 
There  is  more  pain  than  pleasure  in  love." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  think  much  of  love,  aunt !  " 
cried  the  heiress. 

"  No,  ray  dear ;  nor  will  you  do  so  at  my  age,"  laugh- 
ed madame. 

It  was  the  dearest  wish  of  her  heart  that  the  young 
niece  and  heiress  given  to  her  charge  should  marry  well. 
She  had  spoken  to  Mme.  de  Soldana,  and,  so  far  as  they 
could,  the  whole  matter  had  been  arranged;  but  there 
was  a  fatal  flaw  in  the  case  when  the  countess  found  out 
the  secret  of  her  son's  marriage.  Of  it  she  had  spoken 
no  word.  She  had  merely  said  to  Mme.  de  Yesey  that 
she  thought  it  advisable  to  let  the  young  people  see  a 
little  of  each  other  before  the  subject  was  mentioned, 
and  Mme.  de  Vesey  was  quite  willing.  Madame  was 
very  much  amused  by  that  conversation.  She  saw  plainly 
enough  that  Helene  de  Saison,  one  of  the  proudest  girls 
in  France,  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  young  count  with- 
out being  in  the  least  degree  conscious  of  it. 


152  THE  BELLE   OF   LTHIT. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

It  was  drawing  toward  the  close  of  October  when  the 
next  link  in  the  chain  was  forged.  The  beautiful  heiress 
and  the  young  count  had  met  continually  in  society. 
She  had  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  him,  but  he  had  gone 
no  further  than  great  admiration  for  her  talent  and  great 
enjoyment  in  her  powers  of  conversation.  Madame  la 
Comtesse  had  been  perfectly  neutral.  She  never  epoke 
to  her  son  of  Helene,  she  never  alluded  to  his  marriage ; 
it  was  a  six  weeks'  truce;  before  the  six  weeks  were 
ended  she  made  a  masterly  movement  in  the  game.  She 
invited  Mme.  de  Vesey  and  Mile,  de  Saison  to  Belle 
d'Or.  There  she  thought,  in  the  quiet  and  solitude  of 
the  lovely  country,  her  son  would  find  a  charm  in  the 
companionship  of  the  beautiful  young  heiress  that  he 
would  never  find  in  town,  and  there  she  would  break  to 
him  her  idea  and  plan  for  the  future.  Mme.  Vesey  was 
pleased  to  accept  the  invitation ;  she  was  tired  of  the 
brilliant  gayeties  of  Paris,  and  glad  of  repose. 

To  Princess  Helene,  as  the  count  always  called  her, 
the  bare  idea  was  delightful.  Madame  la  Comtesse 
invited  several  other  guests,  and  as  the  two  families  had 
been  very  intimate  in  Paris,  there  was  nothing  unusual 
in  the  visit.  Madame  did  not  intend  to  remain  there 
long;  she  would  return  to  Paris  before  Christmas.  It 
was,  then,  during  that  time,  that  Leon  de  Soldana  found 
how  beautiful  life  could  be  made.  Living  in  that 
magnificent  house,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  beautiful 
scenery  in  the  world ;  surrounded  by  the  most  amusing 
and  brilliant  society,  the  days  seemed  to  fly.  He  did 
not  own  to  himself  that  he  loved  Lima  less.  He  still 
wrote  to  her,  filling  his  letters  with  promises  that  were  as 
vain  as  the  others  he  had  made,  while  every  hour  he 
became  more  and  more  engrossed  in  his  new  life. 

He  had  seen  very  little  of  the  world  before  returning 
to  France ;  he  had  never  been  in  the  society  of  ladies ; 
Lima  was  the  only  one  he  had   known,   and   he  was 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  153 

charmed  with  those  who  surrounded  him  here ;  his 
mother,  so  high-bred,  with  her  statuesque  grace  and  im- 
perial manner ;  Mme.  Yesey,  all  that  was  most  amiable 
and  gracious  ;  Helene  de  Saison,  beautiful  and  clever ;  it 
was  a  new  life  to  him.  He  said  to  himself,  over  and 
over  again,  that  he  did  not  love  Lima  less ;  but  she  did 
not  belong  to  this  new  life — she  had  no  share  in  it. 

During  those  evenings,  when  they  had  music,  dancing, 
conversation  that  was  bright  with  wit  and  repartee,  he 
thought  of  the  homely  parlor  in  Sweetbrier  Cottage 
where  he  was  wont  to  sit  with  his  books  and  papers  while 
Lima  sat  with  him  reading  and  sewing.  How  fair  and 
gentle,  how  loving  she  had  always  been.  He  could  see  the 
golden  head  bent  down  and  the  white,  slim  hands  holding 
the  book ;  he  tried  to  fancy  how  she  would  look  here 
amidst  the  magnificent  luxury  of  this  new  home — how  she 
would  look  amongst  these  high-bred,  nobly  born  women. 
Fairer  than  any,  but — and  he  owned  it  to  himself  with  a 
shudder  —  she  would  seem  out  of  place.  The  rose  that 
bloomed  so  sweetly  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water  would 
lose  its  freshness  and  sweetness  in  the  atmosphere  of 
Belle  d'Or.  The  pretty,  tender  ways  that  had  seemed  so 
delightful  to  him  in  the  darkness  and  dreariness  of  his 
exile  would  be  laughed  at  here. 

He  could  fancy  Princess  Helene  talking  to  Lima ;  the 
two  differed  so  greatly  that  they  might  have  belonged  to 
different  worlds.  The  delicate,  piquant  wit,  the  talent  for 
repartee  in  which  Princess  Helene  excelled,  were  things 
that  Lima  would  not  understand,  while  she  would  have 
laughed  with  scorn  at  Lima's  loving,  gentle  ways. 

He  began  to  realize  that  when  he  brought  Lima  home, 
things  would  not  go  on  so  smoothly  as  now.  She  would 
not  be  at  her  ease  with  these  brilliant  friends  of  his, 
neither  would  they  feel  at  home  with  her ;  for  some  time, 
at  least,  she  would  have  to  keep  away  from  this  which 
was  to  him  a  charmed  circle.  She  would  grow  accustom- 
ed to  it  and  learn  how  to  take  her  place  in  it,  by  degrees. 

But  he  was  compelled  to  own  to  himself  that  he  did 
not  look  forward  with  any  enthusiasm  to  bringing  Lima 
home.  He  tried  not  to  think  of  it,  to  enjoy  the  present 
and  make  the  most  of  it.   Lima  belonged  to  that  horrible^ 


154  THB   BELLE   OF   LTNN. 

poverty-stricken  past  that  he  never  cared  to  remember. 
He  could  hardly  realize  nov?  that  there  had  been  a  time 
when  he  had  lived  in  one  room,  and  had  known  what  it 
was  to  be  hungry.  Away  with  such  memories,  banish 
such  thoughts !  There  was  the  sunny  laughter  of  Mme. 
Vesey,  the  clear,  musical  voice  of  Princess  Helene.  He 
would  think  of  brighter  things.  He  little  realized  how 
far  he  had  gone  astray,  when  he  put  all  thoughts  and 
recollections  of  his  wife  away  from  him  as  being  trouble- 
some and  unpleasant. 

"  I  cannot  think,"  said  Princess  Helene  to  him  one 
"noming,  "  why  you  will  never  take  me  across  the  lake. 
There  is  an  island  just  in  the  middle  of  it,  that  I  have 
been  longing  to  visit  ever  since  I  have  been  at  Belle 
d'Or.  You  are  usually,  Monseiur  le  Comte,  the  most 
chivalrous  of  gentlemen  —  but  twice  I  have  suggested 
that  you  should  row  me  there,  and  twice  you  have  most, 
politely  declined." 

"  I  am  hardly  conscious  of  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  be  doubly  conscious  now,"  she  answered, 
laughingly.  "  Atone  for  it.  Say,  '  Mademoiselle,  the 
morning  is  bright  and  fair  —  charming  for  October ;  the 
lake  is  smooth,  the  air  delicious,  and  I  shall  be  charmed 
to  row  you  across  to  the  island.'  " 

He  repeated  the  words  after  her — she  laughed. 

"  And  I,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  shall  be  delighted  to  go." 

There  was  a  pleasant  walk  to  the  lake-side.  The  lake 
was  one  of  the  great  beauties  of  Belle  d'Or.  A  pretty 
little  boat-house  stood  on  its  banks;  two  or  three 
pleasure-boats  were  always  kept  there.  They  were  soon 
seated  in  the  lightest  and  swiftest,  the  young  count 
rowing  with  a  firm,  bold  stroke. 

"  I  consider  this  a  great  pleasure,"  said  the  beautiful 
girl.  "  1  love  water ;  I  love  the  great,  shining  sea  that 
Res  between  England  and  France;  I  love  the  blue  sea 
that  washes  our  southern  shores;  I  love  all  the  rivers 
and  lakes  in  England.  I  like  the  deep,  clear  pools,  and 
deep,  dark  tarns.  I  wonder  that  you,  being  in  England 
BO  long,  did  not  learn  to  like  rowing." 

"  I  do  like  it,"  he  replied.     "  The  proof  k,  that  X— 


THE)  BELLE   OF    LYNN,  155 

you  must  forgive  the  seeming  vanity  of  my  words :  you 
provoked  them — the  proof  is,  that  I  excel  1  in  it." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  offer  to  take  me  to  the  island 
before  ?  "  she  said. 

And  he  did  not  tell  how  distasteful  the  thought  had 
been  to  him.  It  would  bring  the  past  so  vividly  before 
him  ;  he  could  not  fancy  any  other  face  than  Lima's 
before  him.  How  often  he  had  rowed  the  boat  on  the 
broad  stretch  of  Allan  Water,  looking  with  worshipping 
eyes  into  the  beautiful  face  opposite  to  him.  He  was 
not  particularly  sensitive  now,  but  he  shrunk  from  the 
associations ;  he  remembered  so  well  when  he  had  rowed 
to  the  water-lilies ;  he  could  see  Lima's  beautiful  eyes 
watching  him  now. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  do  not  look  happy,"  said 
Princess  Helene ;  "  you  have  a  sad  expression  on  your 
face,  in  your  eyes.     How  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  just  the  reverse,"  he  replied. 

"  I  know  what  it  is,"  she  said ;  "  the  boat  and  water 
bring  back  to  your  mind  something  you  would  like  to 
forget." 

It  was  a  keen,  clever  guess  of  her3,  made  quite  at  ran- 
dom, but  it  was  an  arrow  that  reached  its  mark. 

"  I  should  like  to  forget,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
speaking  quite  unconsciously. 

"  Forget  what  ?  "  asked  mademoisdle,  quickly. 

He  looked  at  her,  with  a  sudden  flush  on  his  face. 

"  I  did  not  think  what  I  was  saying :  I  mean  that  I 
should  like  to  forget  all  about  my  exile  except  the 
beautiful  land  I  lived  in." 

"  Then  you  have  no  associations  with  a  boat  and  the 
water?" 

"  I  shall  have  for  the  future,"  he  replied,  with  a  gal- 
lant bow ;  and  mademoiselle  smiled. 

Still,  although  he  had  one  of  the  m(»t  beautiful  and 
wittiest  of  women  in  France  for  his  companion,  he  was 
not,  and  he  did  not  look,  happy.  It  brought  Lima  back 
so  vividly  to  him,  that  he  could  have  cried  out  her  name; 
but  the  face  opposite  to  him,  with  its  dark,  passionate 
beauty,  was  not  the  fair  face  of  Lima;  and  the  voice 


156  THE  BELLE   OF   LTim. 

that  murmured  witty,  piquaut  words,  as  they  crossed  the 
Jake,  lacked  the  loving  tones  of  her  voice. 

Pie  had  never  thought  so  much  about  her  since  he  left 
her  as  he  did  now,  and  the  thoughts  were  not  calculated 
to  make  him  happy. 

"  You  are  distrait.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  his  fair 
companion.     "  Your  work  is  mechanical ;  you  are  put 
ting  no  animation  into  it.     I  talk  to  you,  and  you  do  in  t. 
listen  very  attentively.     As  your  punishment,  you  mu.t 
take  upon  yourself  now  the  duty  of  pleasing  me." 

"The  most  delightful  that  you  can  give  me  "  he  said. 
But,  ah  me!  the  banks  of  Allan  "Water,  the  fair  green 
banks  of  Allan  Water,  so  different  from  the  trim,  well- 
kept  banks  of  the  lake ! 

But  he  must  talk  to  her,  and  he  did.  They  reached 
the  pretty  island  on  which  grew  wild  flowers  and  ferns. 

"  I  am  Miranda  on  the  enchanted  island,"  said  Princess 
Helene.  "  How  beautiful  it  is  to  steal  an  hour  from  life 
like  this." 

She  smiled  more  sweetly  than  she  had  ever  smiled; 
her  dark  eyes  lingered  on  his  fair,  handsome  face;  her 
voice  had  a  ring  in  it  that  he  had  never  heard  before. 
Alas,  for  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  and  the  gentle  young 
wife  he  had  met  on  its  banks ! 

It  was  a  pleasant  half  hour  that  they  spent  on  the 
island.  Princess  Helene  laughed  when  she  spoke  of  it, 
but  she  wondered  also  just  a  little  that  he  had  paid  her 
no  compliments,  and  that  he  had  not  seemed  to  care 
more  about  the  expedition. 

She  little  dreamed  that  the  handsome  young  count  had 
but  one  thought,  and  it  was  a  longing  that  she  should 
know  he  was  married,  yet  he  did  not  like  to  break  his 
word  to  his  mother  and  tell  her. 


THE  BELLK   OF  LYNN.  167 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


"Leon,"  said  Madame  la  Comtesse  to  her  son,  "our 
six  weeks'  truce  is  ended  and,  we  are  going  to  fight  this 
matter  out — to  the  bitter  end." 

The  young  count  smiled  frankly,  with  a  vague  wish  in 
his  heart  tliat  it  need  not  be  fought  out  at  all.  By  this 
time  he  had  completely  yielded  to  his  mother's  influence  ; 
her  mind,  being  by  far  the  stronger  of  the  two,  had  gained 
complete  ascendency  over  his.  He  loved  her,  so  he  did 
not  like  to  pain  her ;  he  feared  her,  so  he  did  not  care  to 
vex  her  or  annoy  her. 

"  There  can  be  no  bitter  end,  mother,"  he  answered ; 
"  there  can  never  be  anything  bitter  between  you  and 
me." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  it,"  said  madame.  "  I  have  fol- 
lowed out  my  idea,  which  proved  to  be  a  correct  one.  I 
find  I  have  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  completely  on  my 
Bide,  and  I  shall  set  it  in  motion." 

They  were  back  in  Paris  when  this  conversation  took 
place,  at  the  H6tel  d'Or,  and  their  visitors  had  returned 
to  their  magnificent  home,  the  Hotel  de  Saison.  Madame 
la  Comtesse  had  waited  for  a  few  days  to  see  if  her  son 
would  himself  volunteer  to  speak  about  that  which  she 
knew  must  fill  his  heart ;  but  he  was  too  wise  and  too 
wary. 

They  were  in  madame's  boudoir  —  she  had  sent  to  her 
son  there  —  and  though  it  was  winter  now,  near  Christ- 
mas-tide, the  odor  of  rare  and  costly  flowers  filled  that 
beautiful  and  luxurious  room;  superb  crimson  blooms, 
and  madame's  favorite  flower  in  greatest  profusion,  the 
fragrant  purple  heliotrope. 

A  room  that  might  have  been  fitted  for  a  queen ;  the 
hangings  were  of  rich  pale  rose  velvet  and  gold  ;  the  few 
pictures  were  masterpieces ;  the  rich  ornaments  of  silver 
and  gold  ;  a  few  elegant  books  and  costly  knickknacks  lay 
about.  In  an  easy-chair  of  pale  rose  velvet  sat  madame. 
If  she  had  dressed  herself  to  suit  her  boudoir  jshe  coald 


158  THE   BELLE   OF    LYNN. 

not  have  looked  more  in  harmony  with  it.  She  wore  a 
velvet  costume  of  the  palest  shade  of  gray,  with  a  few 
diamonds ;  very  stately  and  very  imperial  she  looked. 

She  smiled  when  her  son  entered  the  room,  he  looked 
so  handsome  and  so  picturesque,  so  orallant  and  brave. 

"  You  want  me,  mother  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  she  answered ;  "  I  want  to  remind 
you  tliat  the  six  weeks'  truce  is  ended." 

The  young  count  flung  himself  wearily  on  one  of  his 
mother's  dainty  chairs.  It  had  to  be  gone  through ;  the 
sooner  the  better. 

But  what  did  his  mother  mean  by  saying  that  she  had 
tlie  strong  arm  of  the  law  on  her  side,  and  why  was  there 
that  gleam  of  victory  on  her  face  ? 

"  You  have  been  so  short  a  time  in  France,  Leon," 
continued  Mme.  de  Soldana,  "  that  it  is  not  to  be  expect- 
ed you  would  know  much  of  the  law." 

"•  I  do  not,  indeed,"  he  replied,  laughingly.  "  That  is 
just  about  the  only  thing  I  have  carefully  avoided." 

"  You  do  not  know,  then,  that  the  French  marriage 
laws  differ  considerably  from  the  English." 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  never  given  the  matter  one 
single  thought." 

"  You  will  have  to  give  it  very  serious  thought,  now," 
said  madame.  "  It  concerns  you  far  more  than  you  think. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  see  it,"  said  the  young  count,  gravely. 

"  No,  but  I  will  explain  it  to  you,"  she  said,  ''  and  if 
you  consult  your  lawyer  in  France,  you  will  find  that  I 
am  right." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously,  wondering  what  she  had  to 
cell  him,  but  never  dreaming — even  faintly — what  it  was. 

"  You  have  gone  through  a  ceremony  in  England 
which  you  call  marriage,"  she  said. 

*'  1  have  done  so,"  he  replied. 

"  In  France  that  is  no  marriage  at  all,"  said  Madame  la 
Comtesse ;  "  it  has  not  the  faintest  shadow  of  validity." 

"  I  cannot  believe  it,"  he  answered,  slowly. 

"  It  is  most  perfectly  correct,"  said  madame.  "  You 
have  left  some  person  whom  you  call  your  wife  in  Eng- 
land?" 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  159 

"  I  have  done  so,"  he  replied. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  continued,  "  that  so  long  as  that 
person,  remains  in  England  she  is  your  wife,  but  that  the 
moment  her  foot  touches  French  soil   she  ceases  to   be 

80?" 

"  I  cannot  believe  it,"  he  cried  again. 

"  It  is  perfectly  true.  So  stands  the  law  ;  she  is  your 
wife  in  England,  but  not  in  France.  Your  marriage  with 
her  is  invalid  and  illegal  in  the  eyes  of  the  French  law. 
This  moment  you  are  perfectly  free." 

"  But,  mother,"  he  cried,  "  it  is  incredible." 

"  It  is  most  perfectly  true,"  she  replied,  coldly. 

He  sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  then  his  face  flu«hed 
hotly,  and  he  cried  : 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,  mother.  Such  a  law  would 
be  an  infamy." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,"  replied  madame ;  "  there  are 
many  laws  that  are  infamous." 

'•  But  how  is  it  ?  "  he  cried.  "  You  tell  me  this  thing ; 
but  how  does  it  happen  ?  What  is  the  proof  ?  What  is 
the  reason  ?     How  does  the  law  stand  ?  " 

"  You  must  remember,"  said  madame,  "  that  you  are 
under  age.  If  it  were  not  so,  the  law  would  not  touch 
you;  as  it  is,  it  does.  You  have  not  reached  your 
twenty-first  year  yet  —  you  are  consequently  a  minor, 
under  age.     You  see  that,  Leon  ?  " 

*'  1  suppose  so,"  he  said,  haughtily.  "  You  seem  so 
thoroughly  conversant  with  the  subject,  mother,  it  is 
hardly  worth  while  to  appeal  to  me  for  any  confirmation 
of  your  own  ideas." 

"  You  are  a  minor,"  repeated  madame,  "  and,  accord- 
ing to  the  French  marriage  law,  you  cannot  legally  con- 
tract any  marriage  while  you  are  under  age,  without 
the  consent  of  your  pa/rents  or  guardians.  If  you  marry 
without  their  consent,  the  marriage  is  perfectly  illegal." 

"  1  cannot  believe  that  such  a  law  exists,"  he  said. 

"  It  does  exist,  and  it  is  in  very  active  force,"  said 
Madame  la  Comtesse.     "  You  will  find  it  so,  Leon." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  mother,  that  any  young 
fellow  of  nineteen  or  twenty  who  gets  married  here  in 


160  THE   BETXE   or    LYW. 

France  withont  his  parents'  permission  is  not  legally 
married  f  " 

"  It  is  so,"  replied  madame.  "  Whether  the  law  be 
just  or  unjust,  it  stands  so." 

"  It  is  impossible  !  "  he  cried. 

"  It  is  generally  the  impossible  which  is  true,"  said 
madame,  calmly.  "  Of  full  age,  a  man  may  marry 
whom  he  will,  and  his  marriage  is  perfectly  legal ;  even 
should  his  parents  refuse  all  sanction  and  permission,  it 
does  not  matter,  the  marriage  is  perfectly  legal ;  but  if 
the  man  contracting  it  be  under  age,  and  marries  without 
the  formal  consent  of  parents  or  guardians,  such  a  mar- 
riage is  not  valid,  and  does  not  stand  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law." 

The  young  count  looked  bewildered. 

"  Why  does  such  a  law  exist,  mother  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  should  say,  for  the  prevention  of  imprudent  mar- 
riages," replied  madame,  knowing  full  well  that  therein 
she  had  scored  one  good  point  against  her  adversary. 

"  How  long  has  it  existed  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you,"  replied  madame,  "  nor  can  I 
gee  that  it  matters  at  all ;  tfie  law  exists  now — that  con- 
cerns you.  I  can  make  it  even  clearer  to  you,"  she  said, 
emphatically.  "  You  being  under  age  before  being  mar- 
ried, you  should  have  come  to  me,  written,  or  sent  to  me 
for  my  permission ;  without  that  permission  your  mar- 
riage is  null  and  void." 

"  But,"  he  said,  with  some  hesitation,  "  that  is  not'  the 
law  in  England  ;  no  such  law  exists  there." 

"  No,"  said  madame,  "  I  am  well  aware  of  it ;  that  is 
why  I  say  that  the  person  who  is  called  your  wife  in 
England  ceases  to  be  so  the  moment  her  foot  touches 
French  soil.  Ridiculous,  inconsistent  as  it  seems,  sup- 
pose that  you  were  bringing  that  young  person  to  France 
on  the  pier  at  Dover  or  Folkestone,  she  would  be  j'our 
wife ;  on  the  pier  at  Calais  or  Boulogne,  she  has  not  the 
faintest  claim  to  that  name,  because  you  have  married 
her  without  my  consent." 

"  Mother,"  he  cried,  earnestly,  "  I  swear  to  you  that 
1  did  not  know  this ;  I  did  not,  indeed." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"   said   madame,  gently,    "or  you 


THi:   BELLE    OF   LTKi?.  161 

would  have  written  to  have  asked  raj  consent,  which  I 
should  at  once  Jiave  refused,  and  you  would  not  have 
married  without  it." 

"  It  is  monstrous,"  he  cried.  "  I  wonder  that  the 
whole  world  does  not  rise  in  revolt  against  such  a  law." 

"  I  think  that  the  law  has  its  advantages,"  said  mad- 
ame ;  "  when  I  remember  how  headstrong  and  hasty 
most  young  men  are,  I  am  glad  to  remember,  also,  that 
there  is  some  constraining  law  over  them." 

"  I  should  say  that  it  does  far  more  harm  than  good," 
cried  Leon,  hotly. 

"  And  I,  that  it  does  more  good  than  harm,"  said 
madame. 

"  But,  mother,"  cried  the  count,  "  do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  the  same  law  exists  all  over  Europe  ?  If  a  young 
man  marries  in  Italy  or  Spain,  without  the  sanction  of 
parents  or  guardians,  is  his  marriage  illegal  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  illegal  unless  he  brings  his  wife  to  France  and 
remarries  her  here,  with  the  needful  consent  gained." 

"  It  is  an  iniquitous  law,"  he  cried.  "  It  is  a  law  that 
would  help  a  man  to  be  a  villain." 

"  It  is  a  law  that  would  prevent  a  man  from  making 
a  foolish  or  imprudent  marriage,"  she  said. 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it,  repeat  it  as  you  will,  mother, 
that  such  a  law  exists." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  worst-informed  men  in  France, 
then,"  she  said ;  "  your  ignorance  is  only  excusable  on 
the  grounds  that  you  have  never  lived  in  France  and 
have  had  no  French  training." 

"  If  that  be  French  training,  I  am  glad  of  it,"  he 
retorted. 

"  England  has  had  marriage  laws  as  uncertain,  if  not  as 
unjust." 

"  She  has  repealed  them,"  he  said. 

"  France  may  repeal  hers  in  time,"  said  Madame  la 
Comtesse  ;  "  at  present  this  law  exsits,  and  must  be  re- 
spected and  obeyed.  Evidently  you  have  not  made  any 
great  study  of  the  English  newspapers  either,"  said  mad- 
ame. "  I  can  remember  more  than  one  lawsuit  that  has 
axisen  from  it." 

"  I  have  never  read  of  them,"  he  said.    "  I  have  neyer 


162  THE  BELLE  OF  X.TNW. 

heard  the  law  spoken  of,  or  alluded  to.     I  am  perfectly 
ignorant  of  it." 

"  The  next  thing  for  ns  to  discuss,"  said  madame, 
"  is  how  this  French  law  of  marriage,  as  k  stands,  will 
afEect  you." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Ab  Madame  la  Comtesse  uttered  these  words  she  look- 
ed steadily  in  her  son's  face.  In  the  bewilderment  of  his 
thoughts,  he  could  not  at  present  see  her  aim. 

"  There  is  no  doubt,"  she  said,  "  but  that  the  attention 
of  legislators  of  both  countries  will  be  called  to  this  lavr. 
As  it  exists,  it  presses  hard  upon  the  young  women  of 
other  nations ;  but  while  it  exists,  I  shall  make  use  of  it 
for  my  own  purposes." 

There  were  threat  and  menace  both  in  her  voice,  and 
her  proud  face  grew  pale  as  she  spoke.  He  looked  at 
her  in  wonder. 

"  I  do  not  see  what  you  have  to  do  with  law,  mother," 
he  said. 

Madame  smiled. 

"  I  shall  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it,"  she  said.  "  I 
shall  set  it  in  motion  against  you." 

He  smiled. 

"  You  will  never  do  anything  against  me,  or  hurt  me," 
he  said.     "  I  have  implicit  faith  in  you." 

"  It  will  not  hurt  you  in  the  right  sense  of  the  word," 
she  replied.  "  If  you  saw  a  child  about  to  swallow  a 
bright-colored  poisoned  sweet,  you  would  snatch  it  away," 

"  Certainly  I  should,"  he  replied. 

"  The  child  would  cry  and  feel  hurt,  but  you  would 
know  that  you  had  done  a  real  kindness,  and  no  harm. 
It  will  be  the  same  with  you :  I  shall  take  from  you  a 
poisoned  sweetmeat ;  you  will  cry  out  that  you  are  hurt, 
but  yon  will  be  glad  afterward,  and  own  that  I  did  right. 
Now  that  I  have  spoken  to  you  and  explained,  have  you 
any  idea  of  what  my  intentions  are  ?  " 

"  Not  the  faintest,"  he  said ;  but  his  eyes  were  fixed 
in  WQnd^  on  j^.^*  fa^^^  and  a  shade  of  fear  had  crept  into 


THE   BELLS  OF   LTKN.  l6S 

them.  He  wondered  that  she  did  not  speak  more 
quickly  —  that  she  did  not  tell  him  at  once  what  she 
meant.  He  could  not  tell  that  her  thoughts  were  so  base 
and  wicked,  even  she  hesitated  before  expressing  them. 

"  Leon,"  said  Mme.  de  Soldana,  "  your  so-called  Eng- 
lish marriage  was  a  mistake.     You  will  allow  that? " 

"  I  will  allow  this  much,  mother :  it  would  have  been 
much  better  if  J  had  written  to  ask  your  permission ; 
but  I  did  no*,  ^now  the  existence  of  the  law,  so  never 
thought  of  it." 

He  could  not  be  completely  disloyal  to  the  fair  young 
wife  waiting  so  patiently  for  him  on  the  banks  of  Allan 
Water;  he  could  not  be  disloyal  to  all  the  sweet,  pas- 
sionate love  that  had  been  between  them. 

"  If  you  had  written  to  me  a  thousand  times  over  I 
should  never  have  given  my  consent.  K  I  had  not  given 
it,  what  would  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Married  without  it,"  he  said. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  smiled,  a  cruelly  sardonic  smile, 
but  she  replied,  calmly  : 

"  Then  the  marriage  would  have  been  illegal,  as  it  is 
now.  The  children  born  of  such  a  marriage  would  not 
be  legitimate ;  they  could  not  succeed  you.  You  see 
how  ridiculous,  in  every  way,  such  a  marriage  would  be." 

The  young  count  gave  a  weary  sigh. 

"  But,  mother,"  he  said,  "  all  arguments  as  to  whether 
the  marriage  would  be  ridiculous  or  not  are  vain;  the 
marriage  is  an  accomplished  fact,  all  opposition  to  it  ia 
vain." 

"  That  is  where  you  mistake,"  said  madame ;  "  there 
is  no  such  fact  in  such  a  marriage." 

"  But,  mother,  Lima  is  my  wife ! "  he  cried,  and  this 
time  there  was  the  vehemence  of  passion  in  his  voice. 

"  In  England,  but  not  in  France,"  said  madame,  coolly. 

"  If  you  choose  to  have  a  wife  living  in  England  who 
can  never  be  your  lawful  wife  in  France,  you  will  be  the 
first  of  the  Soldanas  to  bring  a  stain  upon  the  name." 

The  count  sprang  to  his  feet,  a  bright  light  shining  in 
his  eyes. 

"  But,  mother,"  he  cried,  eagerly,  "  there  is  a  way  to 
AToid  all  this !    I  most  bring  Lima  home  to  France,  and 


164  THE   BELLE   OP   LYNI*. 

on   must  give  your   permission   to  my  marriage  wilh 


{' 


er." 

That  was  madame's  moment  of  triumph. 

"  And  that  permission,"  she  answered,  "  not  even 
death  itself  should  wring  from  me !  " 

He  looked  at  the  countess  in  undisguised  horror. 

"Do  you  mean  that,  mother?"  he  cried.  "  Do  you 
mean  that  you  will  refuse  the  permission  needful  for  me 
to  make  Lima  my  wife  in  the  eyes  of  the  French  law  ? " 

"  That  is  just  what  I  do  mean,"  she  answered,  "  and 
is  what  I  intend  to  do  !  " 

"  I  will  not  believe  that  any  law  places  such  power  in 
your  hands,"  he  cried. 

"  The  French  marriage  law,  as  it  stands,  does,"  said 
madame. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  live  in  England  with  my  wife, 
in  order  to  give  her  her  proper  position,"  he  said. 

"  Even  then,  in  the  eyes  of  the  French  law,  you  would 
not  be  a  married  man.  Your  children  would  not  be  the 
legitimate  heirs  of  the  Soldanas." 

A  gentle  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  which  his  mother 
heard,  but  it  did  not  touch  her.  She  said  to  herself 
that  she  must  be  firm,  stern,  and  strong,  as  the  surgeon 
with  the  knife. 

"  I  will  point  out  your  duty  to  you,"  said  madame 
in  a  low  voice,  "  and  mind,  I  do  not  want  an  immediate 
decision.  You  can  have  time  to  think  it  over.  You  need 
not  come  to  any  hurried  conclusion  about  it.  Take  time. 
No  one  can  ever  give  too  much  thought  to  any  subject, 
although  it  is  quite  possible  to  give  too  little.  "  Leon," 
she  continued,  solemnly,  "your  marriage  was  a  fatal 
mistake  ;  a  terrible,  fatal,  horrible  mistake." 

"  I  will  not  admit  it,"  he  cried.  "  Mother,  what  is  a 
man  unless  he  be  loyal  to  his  wife  ?  I  will  not  admit  that 
it  was  a  mistake." 

Madame  smiled  calmly,  as  though  she  had  been  dis- 
cussing the  most  trivial  incident  possible. 

"  That  is  merely  childish  obstinacy,"  she  said.  "  Your 
marriage  is  a  grave  and  fatal  mistake,  Leon.  Set  it  aside. 
You  can  do  so  in  all  honor,  because  it  is  not  valid." 

"  Mother,  would  you  counsel  me  to  make  a  villain  of 


THB  BELLE   OF  LTTTW.  166 

myself  ?    How  can  I  set  it  aside — our  marriage  is  sacred 
and  valid  enough  in  the  sight  of  Heaven." 

"  Probably,"  said  madame,  calmly,  "  but  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it ;  your  marriage  is  not  sacred  or 
valid  in  the  eyes  of  the  law." 

"  I  would  not  do  such  a  base,  dishonorable  deed  to  save 
my  life,"  he  cried. 

"  You  have  something  to  save  which  is  dearer  thai 
Me,"  cried  madame  —  "your  name,  and  the  honor  ot 
your  family." 

The  count  smiled  disdainfully. 

"  They  may  perish  a  hundred  times  over  before  I  save 
them  at  that  price !  "  he  cried.  "  Mother,  you  a  woman, 
a  lady,  to  advise  me  to  do  such  a  thing  !  I  am  horrified 
— I  could  not  have  believed  it !  You  ask  me  to  set  aside 
a  true  marriage,  a  marriage  blessed  by  Heaven,  because 
an  obscure  and  miserable  law  happens  to  be  against  it. 
What  is  human  compared  to  Divine  law?  " 

"  You  will  find  this  one  particular  law  a  very  strong 
one,"  observed  madame,  calmly.  "  If  you  will  listen  to 
reason  you  will  see  that  I  am  right,  and  that  if  you  follow 
my  advice  all  will  go  well  with  you,  and  you  will  be  able 
to  redeem  the  error  you  have  fallen  into.  You  must  set 
aside  this  marriage,  which  is  invalid  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law.  There  is  not  a  mother  in  France  in  my  position 
who  would  not  give  the  same  advice  to  her  son." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it ! "  he  cried,  "  and  if  it  be  true, 
ehame  on  all  French  mothers !  " 

His  handsome  young  face  flushed  with  anger.  Had  it 
been  any  other  than  his  mother  who  spoke  those  words 
to  him,  he  would  have  avenged  himself  quickly. 

"  I  quite  expected  that  you  would  be  very  angry,  at 
first ;  in  fact,  you  are  not  quite  so  angry  as  I  thought  you 
would  be." 

"  I  say  less,  perhaps,"  he  cried  angrily,  "  but  I  think 
the  more !  Listen  to  me,  mother,"  he  continued.  "  I 
would  rather  cut  oflE  my  right  hand  than  do  this  thing 
which  you  suggest  to  me  ;  it  would  be  base,  dishonor- 
able, and  shameful.     I  will  not  do  it!  " 

"  I  was  quite  prepared  for  that  answer,"  said  madame. 
."  You  will  think  differently  in  time.     Let  the  idea  sink 


166  THE   BELLE   OF   LYHir. 

into  your  mind  —  that  you  have  to  set  aside  this  English 
marriage,  which,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  of  your  own 
country,  is  no  marriage  at  all ;  and  then  you  will  be  free 
to  marry  Helene  de  Saison." 

"  I  am  married,"  he  cried,  angrily. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  young  person  in  Eng- 
land ?  "  asked  madame,  calmly. 

He  clinched  his  hands  and  bit  his  lips ;  he  forced  him- 
self to  keep  back  the  angry  words  that  rose  to  his  lips ; 
she  was  his  mother  and  a  lady ;  he  must  restrain  himself. 

"  Her  name  was  Lima  Derwent  before  I  married  her ; 
now  she  is  my  wife,  the  Comtesse  de  Soldana." 

*'  A  miller's  daughter,  I  think  you  said  ? "  continued 
madame. 

Alas,  for  the  sweet  green  banks  of  Allan  Water !  Alas 
for  the  sweet  love-story  told  there,  and  the  fair  young 
wife  waiting  there  now  !  He  could  see  the  old-fashioned 
mill,  and  hear  the  foaming  and  churning  of  the  water  as 
it  rushed  from  the  mill  to  the  stream ;  he  could  see  the 
miller's  face  paling  with  anger  when  he  bade  him  go. 
It  might  have  been  better  had  he  gone. 

He  looked  into  the  face  of  the  proudest  woman  in 
France,  as  he  answered : 

"  Yes,  she  was  a  miller's  daughter." 

"  I  should  think  myself  that  settles  the  question,"  said 
madame.  "  You  have  made  a  mistake — now  comes  your 
opportunity  of  undoing  it.  History  does  not  tell  of  any 
Soldana  who  has  married  a  miller's  daughter." 

"  History  may  tell  much  worse,  mother,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  think  this  miller's  daughter  fit  to  take  her 
place  as  mistress  of  Belle  d'Or  ?  "  asked  madame. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  he  answered,  frankly ;  "  but  with  your 
tuition  she  soon  would  be,"  he  answered. 

*'  Leon,"  said  madame,  "  you  must  be  very  simple.  It 
is  quite  useless  for  you  to  continue  your  contest  with 
me ;  I  hold  the  power,  and  you  do  not.  The  law  gives 
me  the  power  over  you  until  you  are  of  age,  and  I  intend 
to  use  it.  Better  be  friends  than  enemies  —  better  be  at 
peace  than  at  war." 

He  looked  curiously  at  her. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  more  quietly,  "  you  are  a  womao 


THE   BELLE   OF  LTNH.  167 

—  a  lady.  You  are  supposed  to  have  a  tender  woman's 
heart ;  do  you  really  advise  tne  to  set  aside  mj  marriage, 
to  blight  my  young  wife's  life,  to  mar  her  fair  name,  and 
to  break  her  heart — do  you  really  mean  this?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said.  "  I  not  only  mean  it,  advise  it,  but 
I  implore  you  to  do  it." 

"  You  do  not  think  it  base  or  unmanly  ? "  he  said. 

"  No,  I  do  not.  The  honor  of  the  family  should  be 
your  first  consideration.  The  young  person  is  called 
Lima,  you  say.  Well,  lima  should  be  provided  for,  but 
your  duty  should  be  to  repair  your  mistake,  and  marry 
Helene  de  Saison." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Long  hours  afterward,  when  Madame  la  Comtesee, 
delighted  with  what  had  passed  at  the  interview,  and 
feeling  quite  sure  that  she  should  win  in  the  end,  had 
left  the  count,  he  remained  thinking  more  deeply  than 
he  had  ever  done  in  his  life  before,  or  ever  would,  per- 
haps, again.  Was  ever  any  man  in  such  a  dilemma — to 
have  a  wife  in  England  and  none  in  France  ?  In  Eng- 
land he  was  a  married  man ;  in  France,  unmarried.  He 
wondered  much  that  he  had  never  heard  of  this  law  — 
that  he  had  never  heard  any  allusions  to  it  in  conversa- 
tion, had  never  read  anything  about  it  —  for  it  was  such 
an  extraordinary  law ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  world 
must  be  astonished  at  it. 

His  mother  spoke  of  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  every 
one  was  perfectly  familiar  with.  He  realized  how  pain- 
ful his  position  was ;  nothing  could  legalize  his  marriage 
except  that  with  his  mother's  formal  consent  he  married 
Lima  over  again,  in  France:  that  consent  she  refused, 
therefore  all  attempt  at  such  a  remarriage  would  be  quite 
in  vain. 

"  What  a  position  for  me — what  a  position  for  Lima !  " 
he  said  over  and  over  again,  to  himself.  "  A  wife  in 
England — no  wife  in  France.  After  all  —  Lord  of  Belle 
d'Or  as  I  am,  lord  of  this  lordly  mansion  and  of  the 
wealth  of  the  SoldaMas — yet  Lima  ia  not  mj  wife  here. 


168  THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN. 

"While  I  live  in  France  she  can  he  nothing  to  me ;  she 
cannot  be  my  wife  or  the  mother  of  mv  children ;  she 
cannot  le^lly  share  my  name  even.  1  mnst  choose 
between  France  and  Lima.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  can- 
not have  both,"  and  he  thought  of  the  summer  sunlight 
lionr  when  Lima  had  chosen  the  white  lilies  of  France, 
;)tid  how,  according  to  these  laws  of  France,  the  white 
lilies  conld  be  hers  no  more. 

On  one  side  was  his  wife ;  he  could  go  back  to  Eng- 
land and  live  with  her  —  she  was  legally  his  wife  there, 
but  her  children  could  not  be  heirs  of  his  French  proper- 
ty ;  he  would  have  to  give  up  many  of  his  rights  as  a 
French  citizen  ;  he  must  deprive  himself  of  the  pleasure 
of  living  on  his  own  domain  ;  more  than  all,  he  must 
give  up  those  ambitious  hopes  and  daring  plans  which,  if 
carried  out,  would  make  him  foremost  amongst  the  men 
of  France  ;  he  must  give  up  all  that ;  if  he  went  to  live 
in  England  he  must  renounce  every  hope  that  was  dear 
1)o  him  ;  still,  of  course,  there  was  Lima —  he  would  have 
Lima. 

He  would  not  have  to  live  in  poverty  again ;  he  could 
not  take  his  estate  with  him,  he  could  not  take  the  grand 
old  chateau  or  beautiful  Belle  d'Or  across  the  sea,  but  he 
could  take  his  income  with  him ;  he  need  not  live  in 
poverty.  It  would  be  a  terrible  wrench,  he  owned  even 
to  himself,  to  leave  France  now  that  he  had  such  fair  and 
bright  prospects,  but,  if  he  remained  in  France,  without 
his  mother's  consent  he  could  not  have  Lima;  to  join 
her  in  England,  and  remain  there  with  her,  was  ruui  to 
all  his  hopes,  prospects,  and  desires  *.  to  remain  in  France, 
and  take  the  place  that  he  wanted,  meant  that  he  must 
live  without  Lima. 

It  was  a  terrible  dilemma  to  him,  and  he  saw  no  possi- 
ble way  out  of  it  except  by  winning  his  mother's  consent 
to  his  marriage,  and  that,  he  saw  plainly  enough,  he 
should  never  do. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  Divine  and  human  laws  ever 
came  into  opposition  with  each  other,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  In  the  eyes  of  Heaven,  in  the  sight  of  the  majesty 
aad  justice  of  Heaven,  Lima  is  my  wife  ;  we  were  married 
bj  a  properly  ordained  minister,  in  a  church,  with  every 


THE  BELLE  OF  LTKN.  '  169 

formality.  I  intended  to  make  her  my  wife  before 
heaven  and  man.  I  married  her  in  accordance  with  the 
Divine  laws ;  a  human  law  steps  in,  looks  me  in  the  face, 
and  says,  *  She  is  not  your  wife ;  the  marriage  is  not 
legal.     Now,  between  the  two  laws,  which  is  my  duty  ?  " 

Conscience  told  him  his  duty  was  to  fulfil  that  grand 
old  law  which  says :  "  A  man  shall  leave  all  things  and 
cleave  unto  his  wiie." 

That  must  be  duty.  It  was  impossible  after  these 
solemn  vows  that  made  them  one,  quite  impossible,  that 
any  human  law  should  override  them. 

Then  a  new  revelation  came  to  him.  It  was  not  so 
much  a  matter  of  setting  aside  the  marriage  as  it  was  of 
the  consequences  that  must  ensue  if  he  persisted  in  treat- 
ing as  legal  and  valid  a  marriage  which  he  now  knew  to 
be  neither ;  and  the  consequences  that  seemed  most  terri- 
ble to  him  were  those  that  concerned  the  succession  of 
his  estates.  He  wondered  what  Lima  would  say  herself, 
if  she  knew;  what  her  opinion  would  be.  Conscience 
and  duty  both  told  him  that  "  he  must  stay  with  her." 
Lima  would  hold  no  other  opinion  than  that.  That  was 
one  side  of  the  question,  leaving  France  and  going  to 
England.  He  could  picture  to  himself  how  he  should 
eathis  own  heart  away  in  exile,  as  it  were,  once  more. 

Then,  supposing  the  marriage  was  set  aside,  or  rather 
was  treated  as  an  invalid  one ;  supposing  that  he  could 
persuade  Lima  to  do  as  his  mother  suggested,  accept  a 
comfortable  income,  and  remain  where  she  was,  never  to 
trouble  him  again ;  suppose  that  he  was  quite  free  to 
marry  Helene  de  Saison  —  what  then  ?  Should  he  ever 
be  happy  again  ?  Should  he  ever  know  peace  of  mind  or 
happiness  ?  What  was  he  to  do  ?  And  each  time  that 
he  asked  himself  that  question,  conscience  answered  him 
in  a  loud  voice :  "  Stay  with  your  wife,  for  she  is  your 
wife,  notwithstanding  the  quibble  of  the  law." 

Mme.  de  Soldana  had  done  a  very  wise  thing  in  telling 
him  that  she  would  not  hear  of  any  quick  decision.  The 
wisest  thing  she  could  have  done  was  to  allow  it  to  sink 
into  his  mind. 

During  the  next  few  days  he  went  about  like  a  man  ia 
a  dream.    He  was  always  thinking  about  it.    The  two 


170  THE  BELLB  OF  LTNW.  ' 

paths  lay  before  him  quite  clear  and  distinct  —  either  to 
yield  to  the  French  law  and  leave  Lima,  or  to  give  up 
France  and  cling  to  her.  Madame  was  too  wise  to  renew 
the  subject ;  she  saw  from  his  face  that  it  had  taken  deep 
root  in  his  mind,  and  she  was  clever  enough  to  let  well 
alone. 

In  the  meantime  she  threw  everything  that  was  bright 
and  attractive  in  his  way;  she  took  care  that  no  day 
should  pass  without  his  seeing  Helene  de  Saison  ;  and 
Princess  Helene  grew  more  attached  to  him  every  day, 
and  from  some  few  words  that  Mme.  de  Vesey  accident- 
ally uttered,  she  gathered  that  there  was  some  idea  of  an 
alliance  between  the  two  families.  Yet,  why  did  he  not 
speak  to  her  ?  He  had  lived  so  long  in  England  that  she 
knew  he  would  woo  and  win  the  wife  he  chose  in  the 
English  fashion.  Of  late,  she  had  thought  him  grave, 
thoughtful,  and  preoccupied ;  he  had  lost  his  ease  with 
her,  he  was  more  embarrassed  when  in  her  society,  and 
Princess  Helene  did  not  know  whether  that  was  a  good 
sign  or  a  bad  one. 

In  the  meantime,  the  count  did  not  take  his  mother's 
word  for  granted;  he  consulted  some  of  the  most  emi- 
nent solicitors  in  France ;  from  one  and  all  he  received 
the  same  answer :  "  That,  being  a  minor,  his  marriage 
was  invalid  without  his  mother's  consent ; "  and  that, 
although  the  lady  in  question  would  be  recognized  as  his 
wife  in  England,  she  would  not  be  so  recognized  in 
France.  That  if  children  were  born  to  him  in  England, 
they  would  not  be  considered  legitimate  in  France,  and 
would  not  be  eligible  to  succeed  him.  Then  what  would 
<X)me  of  the  grand  old  race  of  the  Soldanas  ? 

No  one  could  suggest  any  way  out  of  the  difficulty; 
there  was  none ;  the  way  was  quite  clear  before  him.  He 
must  give  up  Lima,  or  give  up  France  with  all  his  newly 
acquired  honors,  unless  he  could  win  his  mothers  con- 
sent to  the  marriage  —  and  that  was  hopeless. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  watched  him  with  great  anxiety ; 
she  placed  every  temptation  in  his  way;  she  talked 
always  of  the  brilliant  future  that  might  be  his  ;  she 
talked  of  the  wealth  and  the  beauty  of  Helene ;  she  kept 
iiis  mind  Iq  a  continued  state  of  restless  agitation.     809 


THE   BELLE   OF    LYNN.  171 

herself  saw  no  harm  whatever  in  it.  It  might  be  rather 
a  high-handed  proceeding  perhaps,  but  then  desperate 
diseases  require  desperate  remedies.  On  the  only  occa- 
sion she  spoke  to  him  about  the  matter,  after  their  first 
conversation,  he  said  to  her : 

"  Mother,  do  you  really  not  understand  the  villainy  of 
the  plan  you  suggest  to  me  ?  I  grant  that  your  mind  has 
been  warped  and  imbittered  by  sorrow,  still  it  must  be 
clear  enough  and  bright  enough  to  see  that  no  gentleman 
could  do  what  you  suggest,  and  that  the  man  who  does  it 
must  be  a  villain  —  does  it  not  strike  you  in  that  light  ? " 

"  No,  Leon,  it  does  not.  I  look  upon  you  as  a  gentle- 
man, the  head  of  a  noble  house,  who  has,  from  ignorance 
and  want  of  experience,  placed  himself  in  a  most  awk- 
ward dilemma.  I  think  you  ought  to  be  very  grateful 
that  there  is  a  hope  of  rescue  for  you,  even  though  it  be 
by  the  law. 

"  You  see,  Leon,"  continued  madame,  "  I  have  been 
very  patient.  Naturally,  I  wish  to  see  everything  settled 
and  arranged  ;  I  want  to  see  you  well  and  happily  mar- 
ried ;  I  want  to  see  all  your  worldly  affairs  settled.  As 
things  stand  now,  you  could  not  even  make  your  will.  I 
have  been  patient,  but  we  must  have  a  little  action  now. 
I  am  patient  no  longer.  I  leave  matters  in  your  hands 
for  a  few  days  longer,  then  I  shall  take  them  into  my 
own.     Do  you  know  what  my  first  step  will  be  ? " 

"  I  do  not,  mother,"  he  replied.  "  A  hard  one,  I  hare 
no  doubt,  since  it  concerns  me." 

"  A  hard  one,  perhaps,  but  it  will  cut  the  Gordian 
knot  for  you.  I  shall  appeal  to  the  highest  court  of  jus- 
tice to  set  aside  your  marriage." 

"  You  would  not  do  that,  mother  ?  " 

"I  would,  and  shall,"  was  the  determined  repl^, 
'*  unless  you  take  some  steps  at  once.  Your  beet  plan  will 
be  to  let  your  lawyers  arrange  the  whole  matter  for  you, 
let  them  be  as  liberal  as  they  like  in  the  way  of  money — 
but  they  must  distinctly  understand;  you  may  have  a 
few  days  longer  to  think  matters  over  in,  then  there  must 
be  no  further  respite.  Do  you  think  a  wealthy  and 
beautiful  heiress  like  Helene  de  Saison  will  not  soon  be 


172  THE   BELLE   OF   LTlW, 

married  ?  You  are  letting  the  prize  of  your  life  slip  otit 
of  your  hands." 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  despairingly,  "  you  know  that  I 
must  not  think  of  Helene  de  Saison." 

"  Then  you  must  teach  her  not  to  think  of  you," 
laughed  madame. 


;  CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Princess  Helene  was  in  the  salon  of  her  beautiful 
house  in  the  Champs  Elysees  one  morning  when  the 
young  count  called  to  see  her  with  some  commissioB 
from  his  mother.  She  was  pleased  enough  to  see  him, 
and  Mme.  de  Vesey  had  not  hesitated  in  leaving  them 
tete-drtete  for  a  short  time.  It  was  not  in  accordance  with 
French  custom,  but  "  it  was  not  necessary  to  be  so  par- 
ticular" in  this  case,  both  being  pretty  well  used  to 
English  manners. 

The  count  delivered  his  mother's  message,  and  then 
the  conversation  turned  upon  the  last  new  novel  and  the 
last  new  play.  Suddenly  Princess  Helene,  looking  at 
him,  said : 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  have  you  any  idea  what  a 
changed  man  you  are  ?  The  laughter  has  all  gone  from 
your  eyes;  you  are  so  grave,  so  distrait.  We  are  old 
friends  now  —  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  me  for  asking 
you  if  there  is  anything  wrong  ? " 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  most  grate- 
ful for  your  interest  and  kindness." 

"  Are  you  well  ?  "  she  continued,  earnestly.  "  I  know 
that  gentlemen,  as  a  rule,  object  very  strongly  to  acknowl- 
edge that  they  have  anything  but  perfect  health  ;  but 
you  do  not  look  well." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,"  he  answered,  with  a  low  bow. 

"  Then,"  she  continued,  with  a  frankness  that  was 
rather  startling,  "  then  you  are  not  happy.  Ah,  I  see 
that  I  have  reached  the  right  reason  at  last." 

For  he  started  slightly,  and  the  handsome  face  grew 
paler. 


THE  BELLK   OF  LYNN.  173 

"  You  are  not  happy,"  she  repeated ;  "  trust  me,  and 
tell  me  why." 

"  1  cannot,"  he  replied,  "  or  I  would." 

But  he  felt  that  the  best  and  wisest  thing  he  could  do 
would  be  to  tell  his  troubles  to  this  girl  whom  his  motlier 
wished  him  to  marry, 

K  she  knew  the  whole  story  of  Lima  and  his  marriage, 
she  would,  as  a  matter  of  course,  cease  to  think  of  him. 
She  might  be  annoyed  to  think  that  the  story  had  been 
kept  from  her,  but  she  would  most  certainly  give  up  all 
thoughts  of  him  if  what  his  mother  said  was  true,  had  she 
entertained  any ;  but  he  had  given  his  word  to  Madame 
la  Comtesse,  and  he  shrunk  from  breaking  it. 

"Why  can  you  not  trust  me?"  she  said,  gently,  so 
gently,  that  he  was  surprised,  and  he  saw  a  quiver  of 
emotion  on  her  face. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  hurriedly  —  "  only  a  trifle,  a 
something  that  concerns  myself — " 

"  And  therefore,"  she  interrupted,  "  would  interest 
me." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said,  gratefully,  feeling  more 
embarrassed  than  ever.  "  It  is  a  soraerfiing  that  I  cannot 
speak  of." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  "  is  it  a  poUtical  trouble  ? "  —  she 
spoke  quickly  and  in  a  low  voice —  "  that  is  the  one  thing 
I  am  always  anxious  over  for  you,"  she  said. 

He  smiled  half  wishing  that  it  were  nothing  worse  than 
political  trouble. 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  say  that  I  have  no  trouble  of 
that  kind ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  making  my  way,  as  I 
hoped  to  do." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  she  said,  still  so  gently  and 
kindly  that  it  was  difficult  to  realize  it  was  the  haughtiest 
girl  in  France  who  was  speaking.  "  I  cannot  ask  any 
more  questions,  and  those  I  have  asked  have  not  been 
dictated  by  curiosity." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  ke  replied,  with  a  low  bow. 

"  I  will  only  say  that  if  you  are  in  trouble  of  any  kind 
and  I  can  help  you  I  will  do  any  thing  I  can.  You 
must  look  upon  me  as  a  kind  of  sister  and,  come  to  me." 

When  a  young  lady,  with  love  shining  in  her  eyes, 


174  THE   BELLE   OF   LTWlf. 

tells  a  gentleman  to  "  look  upon  her  as  a  sister,"  it  is  not 
in  human  nature  for  the  gentleman  to  fail  in  underetand- 
5ng  something  of  what  is  in  the  lady's  mind. 

Princess  fielene  held  out  a  white,  jewelled  hand,  slim, 
cool,  and  firm.     Count  de  Soldana  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  do  not  deserve  your  goodness,"  he  said,  and  she 
did  not  hurriedly  withdraw  her  hand  from  his  clasp.  It 
lay  there  almost  as  though  she  expected  him  to  say  more. 
It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  young  count  felt 
that  Princess  Helene  cared  for  him,  felt  that  she  loved 
him,  and  that,  so  far  his  mother  was  right :  it  would  be 
in  his  power  to  win  her. 

When  he  released  his  clasp  of  the  white,  jewelled  hand 
without  saying  more,  he  saw  the  expression  of  pain  that 

Eassed  like  a  summer  cloud  over  the  beautiful  face ;  she 
ad  been  so  sure  that  he  was  going  to  say  some  kind  or 
loving  words  to  her,  and  it  flashed  across  her  mind  that 
if  he  did  not  speak,  now,  when  they  were  together  and 
alone,  when  he  had  so  excellent  an  opportunity,  that  he 
would  never  utter  them  at  all,  and  that  her  love  was  all 
given  to  him  in  vain. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,"  she  said,  "  if  any  political 
trouble  reaches  you,  you  will  tell  me  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  promise,"  he  answered,  and  then  he  felt  his  heart 
warm  to  her,  not  with  love,  but  with  kindly,  grateful 
affection.  She  was  so  proud,  so  imperious,  that  she  could 
not  have  paid  him  a  greater  or  more  delicate  compliment 
than  talking  to  him  in  this  friendly  fashion.  His  heart 
warmed  to  her,  and  they  talked  for  sometime  together. 
She  took  from  a  dainty  stand  of  flowers  a  lovely  little 
spray  of  stephanotis  and  held  it  out  to  him. 

"  Keep  it,"  she  said,  "  in  memory  of  the  promise  you 
have  made  me." 

He  laughed. 

"  Favor  me,  then,"  he  said,  "  after  the  English  fashion ; 
fasten  it  here.  When  young  ladies  in  England  give 
their  —  their"  —  then  he  stopped  abruptly,  and  his  face 
flushed  crimson.  He  was  on  the  point  of  saying  "  lovers," 
but  he  paused  just  in  time,  and  substituted  the  word 
•*  brothers." 

"  When  young  ladies  in  England  give  flower?  to  their 


THE   BELLE   OF   LTNH.  176 

brothers,  they  always  add  grace  to  the  favor  by  fastening 
them  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  imitate  the  English  young  ladies,"  said  prin- 
cess Helene,  with  a  bright,  pleased  smile. 

She  went  nearer  to  him,  and  holding  the  dainty  spray 
of  stephanotis  in  her  white  fingers,  she  placed  it  in  the 
buttonhole  of  his  coat  and  fastened  it  there. 

She  was  so  near  to  him  that  he  could  feel  the  slight 
tremble  of  her  hands,  and  the  faint,  subtle  perfume  that 
came  from  the  folds  of  her  dress ;  her  beautiful  face  was 
raised  to  him  with  a  smile ;  her  eyes,  for  one  moment, 
looked  in  to  his — only  one  moment — but  while  it  lasted 
they  told  him  all  that  was  in  her  heart,  and  then  her 
beauty  intoxicated  him.  He  bent  down  and  kissed  the 
beautiful,  ripe  lips,  so  dangerously  near.  The  next 
moment  it  flashed  across  him  what  he  was  doing :  he 
drew  back  pale  and  startled.  The  fair  face  of  his  young 
wife  rose  before  him,  sad  reproach  looking  at  him  out  of 
those  beautiful  blue  eyes.  He  was  startled,  as  though  he 
had  actually  seen  her,  while  Princess  Helene  dropped 
her  proud  head  with  a  crimson  blush ;  her  whole  heart 
was  filled  with  delight,  and  her  first  thought  was  —  "  We 
shall  never  be  tlie  same  after  this — never  again." 

He  recovered  himself  quickly,  and  she  looked  up  at 
him.  She  had  never  been  so  beautiful ;  the  blush  still 
lingered  on  her  face,  and  her  eyes  smiled  into  his. 

"  Is  that  an  English  custom  also.  Monsieur  le  Comte  ?  ** 
she  asked. 

"  Between  brothers  and  sisters,  most  decidedly  yes," 
he  replied.  "I  —  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon,  Princess 
Helene." 

"  I  forgive  you,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  inclined  to 
think  it  is  my  own  fault.  1  went  into  danger.  Take 
care  of  the  stephanotis,  and  remember  your  promise, 
comte.     Good-momiug,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

Princess  Helene  was  wise  enough  to  terminate  the 
interview  just  at  the  right  moment,  but  the  count  did  not 
feel  very  happy  as  he  descended  the  steps  of  that  mag- 
nificent mansion.  He  was  not  pleased  with  himself,  but 
then  she  had  looked  so  lovely,  and  he  had  read  that  in 


176  THE  BELLS   07  LTHIT. 

her  eyes  which  told  him  she  was  not  by  any  means  ia 
different  to  him. 

Alas,  for  the  sweet  love-story  told  on  the  banks  ol 
Allan  Water !     Alas,  for  truth  and  for  honor  I 

"  If  I  did  the  right  thing,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  I 
took  the  only  course  open  to  an  honorable  man,  1  should 
never  look  upon  the  face  of  Princess  Helene  again." 
But  what  a  face  it  was,  radiant,  beautiful,  and  proud. 
How  the  pride  had  given  place  to  tenderness  when  she 
looked  at  him ;  and  she  had  not  been  angry  with  him 
when  he  kissed  her. 

The  fair  sad  face  of  Lima,  his  wife,  faded  from  him, 
and  this  took  its  place.  He  could  not  go  home,  he  felt 
restless  and  disturbed;  a  fire  burned  in  his  veins;  he 
was  like  one  haunted  with  shadows. 

He  went  into  the  magnificent  gardens  that  lay  near, 
and  walked  under  the  shade  of  the  trees.  The  music  of 
the  wind  in  the  trees,  the  clear  sweet  voices  of  the  chil- 
dren at  play  reached  him,  but  above  all  he  could  hear 
the  words  of  the  ballad  : 

*'  For  the  sammer  grief  had  brought  hen, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he  ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
None  80  sad  as  she." 

Was  the  prophecy  in  those  lines  *o  be  carried  out? 
Should  he  ever  be  false  to  that  fair  and  loving  young 
wife,  who  had  given  up  everything  in  the  world  for  him  ? 

When  he  had  first  asked  himself  that  question  his 
answer  had  been  an  indignant,  "  No  "  —  a  thousand  times 
"No." 

The  answer  this  time  was  not  so  indignant,  neither  wag 
he  so  sure  of  himself,  and  he  recognized  the  fact.  Con- 
stant dripping  wears  even  a  stone.  No  man  had  ever 
meant  to  be  more  loyal,  more  true,  more  honorable ;  the 
bare  idea  of  any  other  course  of  conduct  had  been  loath- 
some in  his  eyes.  He  would  not  look  at  it,  he  would  not 
think  of  it,  but  now  he  found  himself  looking  it  straight 
in  the  face  without  much  shrinking  from  it,  and  looking 
at  the  consequences. 

That  same  son  was  shining  over  Allan  Water,  where 


THE   BELLE   OF   LTITN.  177 

his  young  wife  watched  wearily  for  him,  where  she 
prayed  and  wept,  where  she  lost  health  and  strength  and 
everything  in  tne  wide  world,  but  love  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Her  beautiful  face  flushed  with  victory,  love-light 
shining  in  her  eyes,  her  heart  beating  with  a  passion  of 
happiness  so  great  that  it  was  almost  pain.  Princess 
Helene  paced  up  and  down  her  magnificent  room.  She 
was  happy,  yet  miserable.  She  was  full  of  hope,  yet  full 
of  fear.  She  felt  that  the  young  count  cared  for  her;  yet 
if  he  did,  why  had  he  not  said  so  ?  Why  not,  when  he 
kissed  her,  have  whispered,  "  Helene,  1  love  you  —  will 
you  be  my  wife  ? "  If  he  loved  her,  why  bad  he  not 
done  so  ? 

She  had  given  him  her  whole  heart  in  that  one  kiss, 
and  Helene  de  Saison  never  did  anything  by  halves ;  she 
had  given  him  her  whole  heart,  and  she  could  not  take  it 
back.  Until  then  she  had  in  some  measure  tried  to  con- 
trol her  love — she  had  hardly  owned  it  even  to  herself — 
but  now  it  became  suddenly  part  of  her  life,  and  the  kiss 
was  still  burning  on  her  lips  —  her  heart  was  still  beating 
with  passionate  happiness. 

"  I  may  sav  it  now  to  myself,  '  I  love  him  —  I  love 
him ! '  and  alter  this  we  shall  never  be  the  same  again. 
He  looked  in  my  face  and  kissed  me ;  he  can  never  bo 
cool  or  indifferent  to  me  after  that — never  again.  But 
why  did  he  not  say  that  he  loved  me  ?  "Was  there  any 
reason?  Surely  not.  He  did  not  love  any  one  else." 
She  had  heard  on  all  sides  how  insensible  he  was  to  all 
charms  of  beauty  —  how  little  he  sought  the  society  of 
ladies.  She  knew  that  he  had  paid  her  more  attention 
than  he  had  paid  to  any  one  else.  It  could  not  possibly 
be  that  he  cared  for  any  one  else.  There  could  be  no 
reason. 

"I  do  not  believe,"  said  Princess  Helene  to  herself, 
with  a  smile,  "  that  he  would  have  kissed  any  one  else  in 
the  world  bat  me." 


178  THE  BELLE  OF  LTNIf. 

The  white  xrater-lilies  that  slept  on  the  bosom  of 
Allan  Water  could  have  told  a  different  storj. 

"  He  was  even  more  frightened  than  I  was.  Oh,  my 
love  —  my  brave,  handsome  love,  I  shall  win  you  yet. 
You  will  tell  me  that  you  love  me  yet,  and  ask  me  to  be 
your  wife." 

There  was  a  sound  of  some  one  entering  the  room,  and 
Princess  Helene  turned  quickly  to  see  who  it  was,  so 
quickly  that  the  flilsh  had  not  died  from  her  face,  or  the 
happy  light  from  her  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Helene,"  cried  Mme.  de  Yesey,  "  how  well 
you  look ! — how  bright,  how  glad.     What  is  it  ? " 

She,  always  so  proud,  so  imperious,  felt  the  need  of 
human  sympathy  now.  She  went  to  madame ;  she  laid 
her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  hid  her  bright  face  on  her 
breast. 

"  I  do  not  know  quite  what  it  is,"  she  said  ;  "  perhaps 
I  have  been  looking  at  the  sun,  and  it  has  brought  tears 
to  my  eyes." 

Mme.  de  Yesey  raised  the  beautiful  face ;  the  long, 
dark  lashes  were  wet  with  happy  tears. 

"  I  know  what  it  is,"  said  madame,  "  but  I  will  not 
tell." 

She  kissed  Princess  Helene,  and  resolved  that  she 
would  speak  to  Madame  la  Comtesse  even  that  day. 

"  I  will  lose  no  more  time,"  she  thought.  "  I  have 
been  indiscreet  After  all,  English  manners  do  not  suit 
France.  I  should  not  have  allowed  those  two  young 
people  to  have  seen  so  much  of  each  other.  I  am  afraid 
that  Helene  has  grown  attached  to  him,  and  I  know 
nothing  of  his  sentiments.  I  must  see  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse at  once." 

All  that  day  the  brightness  remained  on  her  face, 
evening  was  to  make  her  happier  still.  One  of  the 
finest  singers  in  the  world  (Mme.  Alte)  was  to  make 
her  appearance  that  night  in  the  grand  old  opera  of 
"  Norma,"  and  Mme.  Alte  as  Norma  was  something — so 
the  world  said  —  which  must  be  seen.  Princess  Helene 
had  expressed  the  greatest  desire  to  hear  the  opera,  and 
Mme.  de  Yesey  was  equally  anxious  to  gratify  her. 

It  wae  arranged  that  the  two  ^juilies  should  go  to- 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN.  179 

gether.  The  boxes  were  at  sncli  a  premium  that  they 
considered  themselves  fortunate  in  securing  one.  The 
eraperor  and  empress  were  to  be  present,  and  that  was 
sufficient  to  draw  a  fashionable  crowd.  That  magnifi- 
cent opera-house  was  never  more  crowded  than  on  that 
memorable  evening.  There  was  never  a  more  superb 
spectacle.  The  emperor  and  empress  in  the  imperial  box 
were  surrounded  by  scmie  of  the  most  beautiful  and  bril- 
liant women  in  Paris.  The  emperor  looked  well.  The 
lines  of  care  that  in  after  years  marked  his  face  so  deeply 
had  not  appeared.  He  smiled  and  talked.  The  shadow 
of  Sedan  was  not  hanging  over  him  then,  and  the  em- 
press looked  imperially  beautiful ;  there  was  no  shadow 
on  her  lovely  face.  The  little  prince  was  safe  at  home, 
and  the  dynasty  seemed  sure.  The  empress  was  superb- 
ly dressed,  and  wore  the  famous  pearl  necklace.  There 
were  no  tears  on  the  diadem,  no  thorns  on  the  crown  she 
wore  that  evening ;  all  was  brilliant,  bright,  and  happy. 
It  was  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten  ;  the  beautiful  faces 
of  the  ladies  —  their  magnificent  dresses,  their  superb 
jewels,  the  charming  bouquets  formed  a  brilliant  picture ; 
but  the  face  that  drew  the  most  attention  was  that  of 
Helene  de  Saison  ;  it  was  the  most  beautiful  face  there. 

Many  opera-glasses  were  directed  to  that  box.  Mrae. 
de  Vesey  looked  handsome  and  picturesque.  Mme.  la 
Comtesse  de  Soldana  looked  as  she  always  did,  the  ideal 
of  statuesque  grace,  but  Princess  Helene  carried  the 
palm.  She  had  never  looked  so  lovely  in  her  life,  and  it 
is  just  possible  that  she  never  looked  just  the  same  again. 
Love  had  softened  that  grand  beauty  of  hers  as  it  had 
never  been  softened  before  ;  even  those  who  admired  her 
most  admitted  that  a  certain  proud,  cold  hardness,  rather 
marred  her  loveliness.  It  had  gone  now  ;  the  dark  eyes, 
darker  than  the  velvet  leaf  of  a  pansy,  were  bright  with 
the  love-light  that  shone  in  them,  the  lips  that  were  hard 
at  times  in  their  expression  of  scorn  and  contempt  were 
sweet  with  gracious  curves  and  lines. 

She  was  happy,  thoroughly  happy,  and  happiness 
beautifies  the  face  of  any  girl  ;  it  made  hers  something 
wonderful  to  see.  She  was  dressed  with  exquisite  taste 
— ^her  favorite  color,  pale  amber,  most  delicately  embroi- 


180  TBS  BSLLB   OF  LTNN. 

dered  with  wbite  flowers.  She  carried  a  bouqnet  of 
Btephanotis,  which  had  been  sent  by  the  yonng  count. 

She  loved  him  with  all  her  heart,  and  she  was  going  to 
spend  a  whole  evening  with  him,  listening  to  beautiful 
music.  Could  anything  be  better  ?  Listening  to  sweet 
music  with  the  one  you  love  is  perhaps  the  nearest  ap- 
proach that  mortals  ever  make  to  Heaven. 

Mne.  Alte  was  beautiful  as  she  was  gifted ;  she  took 
the  house  by  storm  —  the  magnificence  of  her  acting  and 
ringing  was  wonderful.  At  first  Princess  Helene  could 
not  see  or  hear  any  one  or  anything  except  the  wonderful 
woman  before  her ;  her  whole  being  was  moved.  It  was 
seldom  that  the  proud  Princess  Helene  gave  way  to  any 
emotion ;  but  to-night  the  sweet  sounds  that  appealed  to 
her  senses,  the  brilliant  scene  around  her,  the  passionate 
love  of  Norma,  her  passion  of  jealousy,  touched  the  very 
depths  of  her  soul,  and  her  heart  softened  as  nothing  but 
music  could  ever  soften  it.  That  night  sealed  her  fate, 
and  the  fate  of  others.  As  she  sat  by  his  side,  looking 
into  the  handsome  face  that  was  the  only  face  in  the 
world  she  cared  for  or  loved,  she  said  to  herself  that  she 
would  be  his  wife  or  nothing ;  that  the  world  held  noth- 
ing else  for  her ;  that  life  could  give  her  nothing  if  this 
were  withheld. 

His  wife  or  nothing!  If  he  never  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife  she  would  never  marry.  If  he  did  not  love  her,  no 
other  man  should,  and  though  she  spoke  no  word,  all 
these  thoughts  were  told  clearly  in  her  eyes,  and  he  read 
them. 

The  passionate  love  of  a  beautiful  woman  is  the  groiit- 
est  flattery  a  man  can  receive,  and  the  count  was  flattiied. 
The  man  must  have  been  blind  and  deaf  who  could  not 
have  read  what  that  beautiful  face  revealed,  and  heard 
what  the  softened  music  of  that  voice  told. 

As  the  story  before  them  progressed  in  its  passion,  its 
beauty,  and  its  pain,  so  did  the  love  grow  in  her  heart. 

He  turned  to  her  once. 

"  What  would  you  have  done.  Princess  Helene,"  he 
asked,  "  had  you  been  in  Norma's  place  ?  " 

*^  Just  the  same  as  she  did/'  was  the  quick  reply. 


THE   BKLLK    OF   LYlW.  18l 

**Have  you  ever  been  jealous  of  any  one  you  loved 
very  mucli  ? " 

"  No,  I  have  never  been  jealous,"  she  answered.  "  1 
do  not  know  what  jealousy  means,  but  I  begin  to  under- 
stand it.  I  should  say  it  is  even  more  terrible  than  love. 
Have  you  ever  been  jealous,  Monsieur  le  Corate  ?  " 

He  thought  of  that  sweet  face  and  the  golden  hair,  of 
the  beautiful  eyes  that  had  never  looked  with  love  on 
any  one  but  him,  of  the  loving  heart  whose  every  beat 
had  been  for  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  grave,  tender  smile,  "  I  have 
never  been  jealous." 

"  I  hope  I  never  shall  be,"  said  Princess  Helene,  with 
a  sudden  flash  of  her  dark  eyes  into  his.  "  Jealousy 
would  make  me  cruel.  Some  men,  it  is  said,  spare  no 
man  in  their  wrath;  I  would  spare  no  woman  in  my 
jealousy." 

"  You  must  love  deeply  before  you  can  be  jealous,"  he 
said,  slowly. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  and  again  their  eyes  met ; 
the  sweet,  sad  music  floated  round  them ;  the  story  of 
love  and  passion,  of  jealousy  and  death,  went  on  to  the 
end. 

But  they  were  in  a  world  of  their  own ;  her  beauty,  the 
passion  of  her  love-lit  eyes,  the  sweet  wooing  of  her 
glances,  the  tenderness  of  her  voice,  the  wondrous  charm 
which  the  complete  intoxication  of  her  love  threw  round 
hor,  dazed  him.  It  was  not  even  then  in  his  heart  that 
he  loved  Lima  lees  —  in  that  hour  he  had  forgotten  her; 
he  saw  only  the  beautiful  face  by  his  side ;  he  heard  only 
tlie  sweet,  seductive  tones  of  that  voice  which  was  all 
sweetness  for  him. 

But  when  he  had  left  her,  when  her  bright  eyes  had 
flashed  one  farewell  glance  into  his,  the  old  wtrds,  with 
their  old,  sad  burden,  came  back  to  him  — 

"  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  sad  as  she. 


182  THE  B£LL£   OF   LTHH. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  PBOMiSB  made  over  running  water  is  doubly  bind- 
ing." As  Count  de  Soldana  walked  home  that  evening 
those  words  haunted  him.  He  felt  that  the  force  of  his 
will  was  weakening,  that  the  influences  brought  to  bear 
upon  him  were  too  strong  for  him  to  resist,  and  yet,  no 
matter  what  the  law  said,  was  he  not  doubly  bound  to 
that  fair  young  wife  of  his  ?  Doubly  bound :  first, 
because  he  had  taken  her  from  her  home  and  her  parents 
quite  against  their  wish ;  secondly,  because  he  had  pledged 
his  faith  over  running  waters,  and  the  old  legend  said 
that  faith  pledged  over  running  waters  was  doubly  bind- 
ing.    He  could  remember  his  own  words. 

"  Swear  to  me,  Lima,"  he  had  said,  "  that  nothing  shall 
change  you,  that  nothing  shall  take  you  from  me,  noth- 
ing shall  induce  you  to  give  me  up.  Promise  that  you 
will  love  me  truly  and  faithfully  so  long  as  we  both 
live." 

And  she  had  promised.  She  had  kept  her  promise, 
while  he  — 

"  Who  could  have  dreamed  or  imagined  that,  if  either 
were  faithless,  it  would  be  1?"  he  thought,  and  the 
Bound  of  running  waters  was  in  his  ears. 

That  same  night  Madame  la  Comtesse  was  waiting  for 
him,  and  when  he  saw  the  expression  of  determination 
on  her  face  he  knew  that  the  crisis  was  at  hand.  He 
knew  that  the  hour  had  come,  in  which  he  must  choose 
between  France  and  Lima. 

Six  weeks  ago  he  would  have  said,  "  Lima  against  all 
the  world,  Lima  before  all  the  world."  A  month  ago  he 
would  have  hesitated,  equally  balanced  for  and  against ; 
but  now  not  even  the  remembrance  of  the  running 
waters,  or  the  words  of  the  sweet,  sad  ballad  turned  the 
scale.  He  had  loved  Lima  with  a  pure,  true  love;  to- 
night he  was  under  the  influence  of  passion.  He  was 
dazed  and  bewildered  by  the  beauty  and  the  love  of  thia 


THE  BELLE   OF  LTNN.  183 

proud,  yonng  heiress  who  had  never  condescended  to 
care  for  any  man  before.  His  mind  was  full  of  her  when 
la  comtesse  sent  to  say  that  she  wanted  to  see  him  in  her 
boudoir. 

She  still  wore  the  same  supero  dress  and  magnificent 
diamonds  that  had  suited  her  so  well  at  the  opera ;  she 
had  thrown  a  white  lace  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and 
stood  as  erect  and  stately  as  a  queen.  The  lamps  were 
lighted,  and  a  flood  of  rosy  light  filled  the  beautiful 
room. 

"  Come  in,  Leon,"  said  Madame  la  Comtesse.  "  You 
are  late  this  evening." 

"  If  I  had  known  you  wished  to  see  me,  I  would  have 
hastened,"  he  said ;  "  as  it  is,  I  have  walked  leisurely 
home." 

"  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  very  gravely  and  earnestly, 
Leon,"  continued  madame.  "  I  know  it  is  midnight,  but 
this  is  the  best  time  for  an  uninterrupted  conversation. 
You  have  to  decide  to-night  between  the  young  person 
you  call  Lima,  and  France — France,  wealth,  honor,  glory, 
and  all  that  life  holds  dear." 

Six  weeks  ago  he  would  have  cried  out,  "  Lima  before 
all,"  but  constant  dripping  wears  away  a  stone — constant 
and  powerful  influence  brought  to  bear  upon  him  had 
produced  its  effect. 

It  is  difficult  for  a  man  to  become  a  rogue  or  a  villain 
all  at  once.  If  a  base  deed  be  placed  before  an  honest 
man  he  recoils  at  once  and  protests  against  it ;  but  if  the 
same  deed  be  kept  continually  before  his  eyes,  and  shown 
in  many  different  lights,  he  becomes  familiar  with  it, 
then  gradually  reconciled  to  it. 

Leon  de  Soldana  was  honest  and  honorable  by  nature, 
granting  even  that  that  same  nature  was  weak  and  easily 
influenced.  At  first  he  had  rejected  his  mother's  pro- 
posal with  horror  and  loathing.  He  would  not  allow 
himself  to  think  of  it  Then,  little  by  little,  the  glitter- 
ing bait  thrown  out  to  him  had  made  its  impression ; 
then  he  dallied  with  the  temptation,  and  so  lost  his  hor- 
ror of  it.  Now  he  argued  both  sides  with  himself,  and 
in  a  case  like  this,  the  man  who  argues  is  lost. 

"  I  told  you,  Leon,"  said  Madame  la  Comtesse,  "  thi^t 


184  THE  BELLE   OF  LTIW. 

unless  YOU  took  some  decisive  measures  yourself,  and  at 
once,  that  I  should  make  my  appeal  to  the  High  Courts 
of  Justice,  and  demand  that  your  so-called  marriage  be 
set  aside  as  invalid  and  worthless.  You  know,  of  course, 
that  the  verdict,  in  accordance  with  the  law,  must  be  in 
my  favor." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  so,  mother,"  he  answered,  slowly. 
"I  have  consulted  some  of  the  most  eminent  lawyers 
here  in  Paris,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  alternative." 

"  No,"  said  madame,  "  there  is  none.  I  am  glad  you 
see  it.  The  end  of  the  trial  will  be  that  the  law  itself 
separates  you  from  that  person ;  you  can  never  call  her 
your  wife  here  in  France,  and  you  know  all  that  you  for- 
feit by  going  to  live  with  her  in  England.  Trial  or  no 
trial,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  There  is 
but  this  difference — if  you  will  intrust  the  affair  to  me,  I 
will  carry  it  through  from  beginning  to  end,  and  there 
need  be  no  publicity ;  no  one  but  your  own  family  law- 
yers need  know  anything  about  it,  except,  of  course, 
Madame  Vesey,  who,  being  a  woman  of  the  world,  will 
understand.  Let  me  arrange  it  for  you,  and  no  shadow, 
no  shame,  no  stain,  shall  rest  on  the  name  of  Soldana.  I 
will  see  that  this  young  person  is  rightly,  kindly,  and 
justly  dealt  with." 

"  A  promise  made  over  running  water  is  doubly  bind- 
ing," were  the  words  that  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  he 
raised  his  hand  as  though  he  would  push  away  the  person 
speaking  to  him.  Beautiful  blue  eyes,  so  sad  and  so 
sweet,  are  looking  into  his ;  he  closes  his  own  until  the 
vision  shall  have  passed. 

"  What  I  want  to  lay  before  you  clearly  is  this,"  said 
Madame  la  Oomtesse  —  "when  you  know  and  acknowl- 
edge that  the  verdict  will  be  against  you,  that  it  cannot 
be  otherwise,  why  allow  this  trial  to  go  on  ?  Why  draw 
the  attention  of  all  France  to  what  was  simply  a  piece 
of  boyish  folly?  Why  let  the  wretched  story  appear 
in  all  the  papers,  and  be  the  subject  of  conversation 
throughout  France?  What  will  you  gain  by  it?  The 
end  will  be  the  same.  You  will  simply  have  drawn  pub- 
lic attention  to  the  fact  that  your  marriage  is  not  legal, 
and  will  cause  the  young  person,  Lima,  to  suffer  far  more 


THB  BELLS  OV  LtNM.  1S5 

dlscomfln^  than  if  the  matter  were  dealt  with  silently  and 
diplomatically." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  young  connt,  looking  into  the  de- 
termined face,  "  do  you  really  intend  to  proceed  with  the 
trial,  which  I  must  call  infamous  ? " 

"  Most  decidedly  I  do,"  replied  madame  with  a  smile; 
"and  every  sensible  man  and  woman  in  France  will  say 
that  I  have  done  well.  Now,  Leon,  you  must  decide  to- 
night ;  will  you  of  your  own  accord  ?  Seeing  that  your 
marriage  is  invalid,  and  also  would  be  ruinous  if  it  were 
valid;  seeifig  that  to  persist  in  it,  to  return  to  England  to 
live  with  this  person  would  be  utter  annihilation  and 
ruin  to  all  your  hopes  and  prospects ;  seeing  all  this,  and 
knowing  that  the  law  will  only  make  it  worse,  why  not 
yield  at  once  to  the  good  advice  given  to  you  ?  Leave 
the  matter  to  your  lawyers  and  to  me." 

"  Oh,  my  poor  young  wife ! "  cried  the  count,  with  an 
imtburst  of  emotion  so  sincere  that  even  the  hard,  world- 
ly heart  of  his  mother  was  touched.  "  My  poor,  pretty, 
loving  young  wife  I "  he  cried,  with  something  like  a 
sob,  and  then  his  mother's  heart  began  to  beat  in  triumph 
from  the  very  tone  of  his  voice  she  augured  that  things 
were  going  well  for  her.  She  thought  that  perhaps  a 
little  sympathy  might  not  be  misplaced  just  then. 
There  are  mothers  who  lead  their  sons  by  sympathy  and 
love  to  Heaven  —  there  are  mothers  who  do  the  very 
reverse. 

"  I  know  it  is  hard,  Leon,"  said  madame,  and  into  that 
wonderful  voice  of  hers  she  threw  a  cadence  of  love  and 
melancholy  that  made  it  irresistible.  "  It  is  very  hard, 
but  you  are  not  the  only  one  in  the  world  who  has  had 
to  sacrifice  himself  for  the  good  of  his  family.  Do  you 
think  that  it  was  easy  for  Napoleon  to  give  up  his  beauti- 
ful and  beloved  Josephine  ?  Yet  he  did  so.  If  —  if  the 
young  person  you  call  Lima  be  really  disinterested  and 
noble,  she  would  be  the  first  to  insist  on  your  leaving  her 
forever." 

He  thought  of  the  sweet  face  and  the  loving  eyes,  of 
the  white  hands  that  had  clasped  his,  of  the  beautiful, 
aensitive  lips  that  had  kissed  him,  caressed  him,  praised 


■18^  THS  BSLLB   OF   LTMN. 

him,  loTcd  him.  Was  it  possible  that  she  would  erur 
send  him  away  from  her  ? 

"  A  promise  made  over  nmning  waters  is  doubly  bind- 
ing, mother,"  he  cried.  "  I  honestly  believe  that  if  I 
were  to  do  this  thing  which  you  ask  me,  it  would  kill  her 
— it  would  break  her  heart !  " 

"  That  fear  need  not  trouble  you,"  said  Madame  la 
Comtesse.  "  Leave  her  to  me.  I  will  undertake  to  man- 
age her,  to  satisfy  her;  to  make  her  quite  content  and 
happy." 

"  If  I  do  it,"  said  the  young  count,  sadly,  "  I  shall 
never  know  another  happy  moment  in  my  life  —  never 
one.  I  shall  feel  that  I  am  branded  with  a  guilt  greater 
than  that  of  murder.  I  shall  never  hold  up  my  head  in 
the  sunlight  again." 

"  My  dear  Leon,"  cried  madame,  "  that  is  all  senti- 
mental nonsense,  the  raving  of  foolish  romance  1  Napo- 
leon the  Great  held  up  his  head  more  proudly  than  ever 
after  he  had  married  Marie  Louise." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  unhappy  young  man,  "  you  need 
not  point  out  Napoleon's  marriage  as  a  model  for  me  to 
imitate.  People  said  that  he  was  never  happy  for  one 
minute  afterward." 

"  People  said  that  King  Henry  never  smiled  after  his 
son's  death,"  said  madame  ;  '^  but  it  does  not  follow  that 
it  is  true,  because  people  say  it." 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  you  were  rejoiced 
when  I  regained  what  I  may  call  my  patent  of  nobility." 

"  I  was,  my  son !  "  she  replied. 

"  I  feel  that  what  you  are  asking  me  to  do  degrades 
me  far  more  than  that  same  patent  of  nobility  ennobles 
me." 

"  The  same  thing  did  not  degrade  Napoleon,"  she  said, 
calmly ;  "  while  a  man  keeps  himself  within  the  letter  of 
the  law,  he  is  safe." 

How  could  he  deny  that  ?  The  laws  of  a  nation  are 
supposed  to  be  its  safeguard  ;  can  any  man  do  better  than 
comply  with  them  ? 

What  answer  could  he  make?  Let  the  lawgivers  of  a 
nation  be  careful  and  not  io  frame  their  laws  that  compU> 


THE   BELLB   OF  LTPTN.  187 

ance  with  them  should  be  a  screen  for  guilt,  and  a  cover 
for  crime. 

The  lawgivers  of  a  nation,  the  men  who  hold  so  much 
in  their  hands !  How  far  those  laws,  some  of  them,  tend 
to  individual  crimes,  who  shall  saj  ? 

Before  madame  dismissed  her  son  that  night,  he  had 
promised  to  do  what  his  mother  required  of  him,  and 
nad  lost  his  own  self-respect  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

Neter  was  a  more  diplomatic  meeting  than  that  which 
took  place  between  the  two  ladies,  one  of  the  house  of 
Soldana,  and  one  of  the  ancient  house  of  Vesey. 

Mme.  la  Cointesse  de  Soldana  knew  what  she  had  to 
say.  Mme.  Vesey  knew  what  she  had  to  insinuate ;  both 
knew  well  that  they  desired  most  heartily  a  marriage  be- 
tween the  young  people. 

The  conference,  which  was  a  most  solemn  one,  took 
place  in  madame's  boudoir ;  in  the  same  room  where,  by 
specious  and  subtle  arguments,  she  had  overcome  the 
honorable  scruples  of  her  son,  and  had  trodden  them  un- 
der foot — where  she  had  taken  from  him  all  insignia  of 
nobility,  and  robbed  him  of  his  last  remnant  of  honor. 

There  the  conference  took  place.  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  broke  the  ice  by  saying  how  very  desirable,  in  her 
eyes,  an  alliance  between  the  two  families  would  be,  and 
Mme.  Yesey  most  cordially  agreed  with  her. 

Then  it  was  Mme.  Vesey's  turn,  and  she  explained 
that  Princess  Helene  had  not  been  trained  exactly  after 
the  fashion  of  French  young  ladies.  She  had  been  left 
a  great  heiress  at  a  very  early  age.  She  had  travelled  a 
great  deal ;  they  had  been  nearly  two  years  in  England, 
and  one  in  Italy ;  the  consequence  was  that  she  was,  in 
some  degree,  emancipated.  She  had  far  more  liberty 
than  fell,  as  a  rule,  to  the  lot  of  young  girls  of  her  age. 
The  consequence  of  this,  madame  added,  was  that  she 
had  gone  more  into  society  ;  she  had  more  her  own  way, 
and  the  result  was^  madame  fancied — ahe  was  not  sar% 


188  THK   BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

but  she  fancied — her  niece  regarded  Monsienr  le  Comte 
de  Soldana  with  kindly  eyes.  Madame  la  Comtesse  ex- 
pressed her  delight ;  no  marriage  could  be  more  suitable, 
no  marriage  could  be  more  delightful,  and  she  gladdened 
Mme.  Vesey's  heart  by  telling  her  that  she  knew  for  a 
certain  fact  that  this  marriage,  this  alliance  between  two 
great  and  noble  families,  would  give  great  satisfaction  sl\j 
court. 

That  was  the  final  seal  in  Mme.  Vesey's  opinion  ;  she 
had  an  almost  superstitious  love  and  reverence  for  the 
beautiful  empress,  and  was  delighted  to  hear  that  she 
had  taken  an  interest  in  the  marriage  of  her  niece. 

Everything  was  most  satisfactory.  The  Comtesse  de 
Soldana  mentioned  her  son's  income,  his  estates,  his 
honors  and  dignities;  Mme.  de  Vesey  mentioned  her 
niece's  fortune,  which  was  so  enormous  that  even  Mad- 
ame la  Comtesse  wondered,  and  felt  more  anxious  than 
ever  to  bring  about  the  marriage.  Mme.  Vesey  men- 
tioned all  the  conditions  that  went  with  this  enormous 
fortune,  and  the  comtesse  saw  nothing  to  object  to  in 
any  of  them.  So  far  all  was  pleasant,  fair  sailing,  and 
easy,  but  Madame  la  Comtesse  knew  her  duty ;  she 
knew  that  between  the  heads  of  the  two  families  there 
must  be  perfect  confidence,  and  she  had  not  a  very 
pleasant  story  to  tell. 

Comte  de  Soldana  had  made  one  stipulation  with  hia 
mother,  and  it  was  this :  that  Helene  de  Saison  should 
not  be  allowed  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  his  story.  Per- 
haps he  had  some  faint  hope  that  when  she  heard  it  she 
would  reject  his  suit ;  that  she  would  indignantly  refuse 
to  take  to  herself  one  who  in  another  country  was  the 
legitimate  husband  of  another  woman.  Perhaps  he 
thought  that  tlie  cry  might  revolt  her  —  *'  A  wife  in  Eng- 
land, no  wife  in  France."  He  made  his  mother  promise 
that  she  should  be  told  the  whole  story,  and  that  the  de- 
cision should  rest  with  her. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  had  but  little  fear.  She  had 
read  the  nature  and  character  of  Princess  Helene  pretty 
accurately.  Still,  it  was  not  altogether  a  pleasant  story 
to  tell. 

"There  is  one  thing,  Madame  de  Vesey,"   she  said, 


THE   BELLE    OF   LYNN.  189 

**  which  I  should  like  to  mention  before  we  proceed  —  a 
foolish  entanglement  in  which  my  son  involved  himself 
when  he  was  in  England.  Nothing  dishonorable;  in 
fact,  it  does  far  more  credit  to  his  heart  than  his  head. 
We  are  both  women  of  the  world ;  we  both  understand 
that  young  men  are  not  so  careful  or  so  thoughtful  as 
tliey  should  be.  Happily,  the  law  sets  in  to  avert  the 
consequences  of  my  son's  folly." 

Tlien  she  told  the  story  exactly  as  it  happened,  and  as 
it  was,  not  disguising  one  fact,  yet  making  it  perfectly 
clear  to  her  listener  that,  owing  to  the  state  of  the  mar- 
riage law,  the  girl  who  was  a  wife  in  England  was  no 
wife  in  France ;  the  marriage  which  was  perfectly  legal 
and  valid  in  England  was  worthless  in  France,  and  Mme. 
Vesey  listened  with  grave  attention. 

"  What  do  you  think  yourself  of  the  situation  ? "  asked 
Madame  la  Comtesse,  when  the  whole  history  was  con- 
cluded. 

"  I  think,"  said  madame,  slowly,  "  that  you  are  quite 
right  in  setting  this  marriage  aside.  It  is  really  no  mar- 
riage. It  would  be  utter  ruin  for  your  son  to  persist  in 
it,  but  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  would  have  too  much 
sense." 

"  Many  young  men  make  similar  mistakes,"  continued 
Madame  la  Comtesse.  "  If  he  had  married  an  English 
lady  of  birth  and  good  connections,  it  would  have  been 
different :  I  might  in  that  case  have  given  permission 
for  the  ceremony  to  have  been  repeated  here  with  my 
formal  sanction  and  permission.  You  see,  Madame 
Vesey,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  have  my  son  entirely  in 
my  power.  Though  he  is  really  the  head  of  the  house, 
the  restoration  was  virtually  made  to  me  until  he  comea 
of  age.  I  think,  under  all  the  circumstances,  I  am  do- 
ing right,  doing  what  is  best  for  him." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  are,"  said  Mme.  Vesey.  Still 
she  looked  grave  and  anxious. 

"  Yon  have  some  doubt  on  your  mind,"  said  the  count- 
ess ;  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Did  your  son  love  this  young  person  ?  "  asked  Mme. 
Vesey ;  "  love  her  and  woo  her  alter  the  English  fash- 
ion? " 


190  THK  BELLE   OP   LYNN. 

"  I  should  imagine  so,"  replied  madame.  "  He  miuft 
have  been  what  people  absurdly  call  in  love  with  her,  or 
he  never  would  have  gone  through  the  marriage  cere- 
mony illegal  as  it  was,  with  her." 

"  If  I  understand  my  niece  rightly,"  said  Mme.  Yesey, 
**  that  would  be  her  chief  objection ;  she  has  sense 
enough  to  see  that  there  is  no  alternative  for  the  count 
but  to  forget  all  about  what  he  honestly  thought  at  the 
time  was  a  legal  marriage.  I  myself,"  continued  Mme. 
Vesey,  "  although  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  France,  and 
have  always  known  of  this  law  as  I  know  of  others,  I 
have  never  realized  it;  until  now  I  have  never  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  it.  1  see  both  the  good  and  the 
evil  of  it.  I  must  say  that  I  think  it  presses  hardly  on 
the  women  of  other  nations.  I  believe  my  niece,  if  I 
understand  her  rightly,  would  take  less  notice  of  the  fact 
of  the  marriage  than  of  the  fact  that  he  loved  the  girl, 
and  the  reason  of  that  is  because  she  herself  loves  him. 
She  is  peculiar,  she  has  strong  characteristics.  I  have 
always  advised  her  to  keep  clear  of  all  love  and  romance. 
In  this  case,  my  advice  has  been  in  vain.  She  will  brook 
no  divided  love,  no  half  heart.  She  will  have  all  or 
nothing." 

"  I  may  say  that  she  will  have  all,"  said  Madame  la 
Comtesse,  thoughtfully.  "  My  son  thinks  that  he  loves, 
or  has  loved,  this  young  girl;  I  do  not  think  so.  See 
how  long  he  has  been  here  in  France,  and  he  has  made 
no  effort  whatever  to  see  her.  1  do  not  believe  that  he 
loves  her,  while  I  think  that  he  is  quite  carried  away  by 
the  beauty,  the  wit,  and  the  charm  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Saison." 

And  so  the  conversation  continued ;  as  women  of  the 
world,  accustomed  to  the  ways  and  fashions  of  the 
aristocracy,  they  knew  well  that  in  the  settlement  of  a 
young  noble  man's  marriage  the  broken  hearts  of  one  or 
two  women  were  not  reckoned  a  feather's  weight. 
*'  Things  of  the  kind  were  always  happening.  There  was 
the  young  Marquis  de  Poldaic;  he  began  life  very 
young,  travelled  half  over  the  world,  and  married  a 
Beautiful  Cuban.  He  took  her  home  to  Paris,  there  his 
parents  took  proceedings  against  him,  the  marriage  wa« 


THE  SlILLS  OF  LTIW.  191 

declared  null  and  void  —  in  very  tmth,  she  was  no  wife 
of  his  when  once  they  reached  the  French  shore.  He  was 
formally  announced  as  about  to  marry  Minette  de 
Pierrefonds,  and  the  beautiful  Cuban  threw  a  bottle  of 
ritrol  at  him,  and  blinded  him  for  life." 

Mme.  Vesey  remembered,  too,  that  a  few  years  ago  all 
France  had  rung  with  the  story  of  M.  le  Due  de  Mirema, 
who,  while  he  was  a  minor,  married  the  most  beautiful 
and  accomplished  singer  of  the  day  —  Signorina  Pardi — 
and  when,  two  years  afterward,  he  tired  of  her  and  con- 
ceived a  violent  affection  for  Mme.  de  Campolle,  he  had 
no  trouble,  nothing  to  do  but  to  plead  the  illegality  of 
his  marriage,  which  the  law  at  once  admitted,  and  h© 
married  madame. 

*'  Those  are  not  very  cheerful  incidents,"  said  Madame 
la  Comtesse ;  "  I  hope  our  affair  will  not  end  so  badly." 

"  There  is  no  fear,"  said  Mme.  Yesey.  "  You  know 
nothing  of  this  young  English  person,  Madame  la 
Comtesse  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  she  is  as 
beautiful  as  an  angel,  according  to  my  son  —  most  of 
those  young  English  girls  are  pretty !  —  and  she  is  a 
miller's  daughter." 

"  A  miller's  daughter !  "  cried  Mme.  Vesey.  "  What  a 
mistake  for  Monsieur  le  Comte  to  make.  How  could 
he,  a  Soldana,  think  of  such  a  marriage  ? " 

"  He  was  poor  and  in  exile,  without  any  thought  of 
return  in  those  days,"  said  Madame  la  Comtesse. 

"  I  think  it  is  an  excellent  thing  for  you,  Madame  la 
Comtesse,  that  the  law  is  on  your  side,"  said  Mme. 
Vesey ;  "  you  could  never  have  tolerated  such  a  mesalli- 
ance as  that." 

"  Never,"  said  Mme.  de  Soldana,  proudly.  What  was 
one  girl's  heart  compared  to  the  glories  of  the  house  of 
Soldana !  Then  they  talked  for  a  few  minutes  on  what 
could  be  done  over  Mile,  de  Saison. 

"  She  is  very  jealous  by  nature,"  said  Mme.  Vesey. 
"  My  opinion  of  her  is  that  she  would  overlook  any  and 
every  thing  except  the  fact  of  his  having  loved  the  girl." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Madame  la  Comtesse,  "  would  it 
not  be  best  for  me  to  speak  to  her  and  tell  her  how  thf 


IdSf  THE  BELLE   OF  LTNW. 

matter  stands?  My  son  wishes  her  to  know  the  story, 
and  he  leaves  the  decision  in  her  hands.  If,  knowing  it, 
she  will  accept  his  devotion  and  share  his  name,  he  will 
be  the  happiest  of  men.  If,  knowing  it,  she  refuses,  he 
will,  as  he  must,  abide  by  her  decision,  and  he  will  be  of 
all  men  the  most  miserable.  I  think,"  added  Madame  la 
Comtesse,  "  she  will  accept  him."  But  madame  shook 
her  head  gravely. 

"  If  he  loved  the  other  one,  I  cannot  say,"  she  replied. 
"  My  niece  is  jealous,  and  jealousy  is  a  passion." 


CHAPTER  XXXYIII. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  knew  that  she  had  the  most 
difficult  of  her  many  difficult  tasks  before  her.  She 
nnderstood  the  character  of  Mile,  de  Saison  to  a  nicety. 
She  knew  also  that  she  was  deeply  in  love  with  her  son. 
If  she  could  tell  this  story  of  the  marriage  so  as  to  im- 
press mademoiselle  with  the  idea  that  it  was  the  English 
girl  who  loved  her  son,  rather  than  her  son  who  loved 
the  girl ;  if  she  could  leave  upon  the  mind  of  the  heiress 
the  impression  that  she  was  the  comte's  first  and  dearest 
love,  all  would  be  well.  If  not  the  alliance  which  she  so 
much  courted  would  never  take  place. 

So  that,  after  all,  after  all  her  fears  and  anxieties,  the 
matter  really  remained  in  her  own  hands  now. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  was  not  deceitful  by  nature,  nor 
was  she  addicted  to  untruth.  As  a  rule  she  was  honest 
in  the  expression  of  her  thoughts  and  ideas ;  but  this 
case  seemed  to  her  so  desperate,  there  was  so  much  at 
stake,  that  she  did  not  think  a  misrepresentation  of  the 
facts  would  be  of  any  harm ;  not  tiiat  she  intended  so 
much  to  misrepresent  them  as  to  give  to  them  the  need- 
ful shape  and  coloring.  To  paint  her  son,  not  as  an 
ardent  lover,  wooing  and  winning  a  young  and  innocent 
girl  as  his  wife ;  to  paint  him  as  the  victim  of  a  mistake; 
to  represent  him  rather  ns  having  been  entangled  in  a 
moment  of  weakness  —  of  liavine;  gone  through  a  cere- 
mony   which  was  valid  in  England  but  not  in  France, 


'fHti   BKLLE    OF    LTITN.  103 

aad  then  finding  out  that  this  same  ceremony  was  worth- 
less. That  in  France  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  this  8f>- 
called  marriage  could  never  be  a  marriage,  and  that  on 
his  finding  out  the  unalterable  truth  of  this  he  was  will- 
ing to  do  the  best  he  could  to  provide  suitably  for  the 
young  person,  to  repair  his  most  hasty  and  terrible  mis- 
take, and  that  if  she  could  overlook  this  he  begged  to 
place  his  heart  and  his  life  at  her  feet. 

If  she  were  clever  enough  to  tell  her  story  in  that 
fashion,  she  might  succeed  ;  if  not,  if  the  beautiful  heir- 
ess were  angry  or  jealous,  then  all  hopes  of  the  great  De 
Saison  alliance  were  ended. 

"  My  tact  and  diplomacy  never  have  failed  me,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  Surely  they  will  come  to  the  rescue 
now." 

"  Princess  Helene "  —  for  the  pretty  name  that  the 
count  had  given  to  her  became  a  household  word ;  Mad- 
ame la  Comtesse  always  used  it,  Mme.  Yesey  used  it,  the 
young  count  hardly  recognized  her  by  ''ny  other  name  — 
Princess  Helene  woke  up  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  her  conversation  with  mad  a  me  was  to  take  place 
with  a  feeling  that  some  crisis  in  her  life  had  arrived. 

It  was  noon  when  Mme.  de  Soldana  reached  the  Hdtel 
Saison,  and  she  found  the  young  heiress  alone.  Mme. 
Vesey  had  discreetly  driven  out  to  keep  a  business 
engagement  made,  she  said,  some  days  since.  Princess 
Helene  looked  very  lonely  and  very  magnificent.  She 
was  in  her  own  boudoir,  a  cheerful  and  beautiful  room 
that  looked  over  the  Champs  Elys^es,  a  room  that  seemed 
to  be  all  pictures  and  flowers ;  the  hangings  were  all  of 
Princess  Helene's  favorite  color — pale  amber,  with  finest 
white  lace.  Most  of  the  flowers  were  of  deep  crimson  or 
of  dead  white,  so  that  the  coloring  of  the  whole  room 
was  delightful. 

Contrary  to  the  regular  custom,  there  was  a  small  silver 
grate  in  the  room,  and  a  bright  fire  burned  there.  Prin- 
cess Helene  had  drawn  her  easy-chair  near  it ;  a  charm- 
ing picture  she  presented :  the  prettily  embroidered  slip- 
per resting  on  a  footstool  of  pale  amber  velvet  with  gold- 
en tassels,  her  dress  of  rich  white  silk  loosely  fastened 
with  a  golden  cord  and  showing  every  line  of  ner  beauti- 


194  THE   BELLB   OF    LYNN. 

ful  fignr?,  her  dark  hair  loosened,  and  licr  face  flushed 
into  loveliest  bloom. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  looked  at  lier  feet  for  half  a 
minute  in  silent  admiration.  She  felt  that  she  could  do 
anything  to  secure  the  magnificent  young  creature  as  her 
son's  wife.  It  was  a  pleasant  picture  to  see  the  two 
ladies  meet,  to  see  how  the  younger  one  rose,  blushing 
i.nd  radiant  with  delight,  while  the  older  one  folded  her 
in  her  arms,  and  kissed  her  face. 

"  This  is  the  day  of  all  days  to  me,"  said  Madame  la 
iDomtesse,  when  they  were  seated  side  by  side.  "  I  have 
come  to  tell  a  story,  to  ask  a  grace,  to  plead  for  one  who 
just  now  cannot  plead  for  himself." 

The  beautiful  face  grew  brighter  as  she  spoke. 

Was  it  possible  that  the  time  she  had  longed  for  had 
come,  but  that  instead  of  being  wooed  in  English  fashion, 
Madame  la  Comtesse  had  come  in  French  fashion  to  ask 
her  hand  for  her  son?  Her  heart  beat,  her  eyes  grew 
brighter.  She  wag  more  lovely  in  the  confusion  of  that 
moment  than  Madame  la  Comtesse  had  ever  seen  her  bc' 
fore.  Her  son  must  win  this  msignificent  creature,  and 
she  must  do  her  best  to  help  him.  She  did  not  know 
how  easy  her  task  would  be,  for  Princess  Helene  had 
given  to  Count  Soldana  the  whole  passionate  love  of  hei* 
heart  As  Mme.  Vesey  had  said  of  her,  she  was  for  all 
or  nothing.  She  had  not  given  to  him  a  kindly  affection, 
a  mere  passing  fancy,  a  love  that  would  die  in  a  few 
years ;  she  had  given  to  him  the  whole  passionate  love  of 
a  passionate  nature.  It  was  hardly  possible,  hardly  prob- 
able, that  the  mother  would  plead  in  vain  for  the  son  so 
dearly  loved. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Madame  la  Comteaee,  "  as  my 
son's  embassadress ; "  and  then  Princess  Helene  gave  a 
great  sigh  of  unutterable  relief  and  content 

"  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you,  Belle  Helene,"  she  said, 
*  and  the  story  is  of  my  son.     Will  you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  deeply  interested,"  she  replied. 

"  I  know,"  continued  Madame  la  Comtesse,  "  that  this 
is  an  unusual  proceeding,  and  that  it  is  a  most  unusual 
thing  to  tell  such  a  s*ory  as  this  to  a  young  lady ;  but  I 
know,  also,  that  you  have^had  a  far  more  liberal  trainiog 


THE   BBLLS   OF   LYNN.  195 

than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  yonng  ladies,  and  you  know 
more  of  the  world  ;  besides  wliich,  my  son  wislied  me  to 
tell  you,  as  he  leaves  your  decision  and  his  fate  in  your 
hands." 

Then  the  proud,  beautiful  face  grew  paler,  and  the 
dark  eyes  troubled. 

"  Is  it  of  your  son,  of  Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  wish  to 
tell  me  ?  "    she  asked. 

"  Yes,  it  is  an  accident  in  his  life  that  you  must  know." 

"  But  why  did  he  not  tell  me  himself  ? "  asked  the 
girl. 

"  He  thought  it  better  left  to  me,"  replied  Mme.  de 
Soldana,  "  and  he  had  good  reasons  for  it." 

And  then,  delicately,  cleverly,  subtly,  she  told  the 
story.  In  her  recital  of  it,  there  was  not  one  word  that 
could  have  shocked  even  a  child.  She  painted  a  picture 
that  was  marvellous  even  to  herself.  She  described  the 
dreariness,  the  darkness  of  his  exile,  then  how  this  young 
English  person  had  brightened  and  cheered  it,  had  made 
her  way  to  his  confidence,  had  entangled  him — she  could 
find  no  other  word  —  had  succeeded  in  inveigling  him 
into  a  marriage  that  was  really  no  marriage,  because  it 
was  invalid  in  France — a  perfectly  useless  and  illegitimate 
ceremony;  and  then  Princess  Helene  raised  her  dark 
eyes. 

"  Can  there  be,"  she  asked,  "  such  a  law  as  that? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  madame  ;  "  it  is  the  law  of  the  land.'* 

"  Of  this  fair  land  of  France  ?  "  cried  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  law,  pure  and  simple,  just  as  it  stands," 
replied  madame. 

"  I  did  not  know,"  said  Princess  Helene,  "  but  then  I 
iiave  never  heard  anything  about  the  law — how  should 
I?  If  I  may  say  what  I  think  about  it,  I — I  hardly 
think  that  law  is  fair ;  but  I  will  not  interrupt  you, 
madame." 

Madame  la  Comtesse  went  on  with  her  picture,  and  it 
grew  under  her  hands.  How  delicate  and  subtle  the 
colors,  how  well  blended ;  and  how  picturesque  was  the 
picture  of  the  young  count  as  it  stood  out  from  the  can- 
vas, clear  and  distinct. 

yhia  was  no  weak-minded  young  man  who  knew  what 


196  .    THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

was  ri^Kt,  Out  had  not  the  courage  to  dv»  it ;  ttiia  was  a 
handsome,  melancholy  young  prince,  with  whom  a  mil- 
ler's daughter  fell  in  love,  as  fair  Elaine  fell  in  love  with 
Sir  Lancelot — only  in  this  case  the  miller's  daughter  had 
prevailed,  and  had  inveigled  him  into  some  kind  of  cere- 
mony— a  marriage  valid,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  admitted, 
in  England,  brit  not  in  France. 

A  chivalrous  young  prince,  who  saw  plainly  enough 
that  he  had  made  a  terrible  mistake  in  making  an  invalid 
marriage  —  a  marriage  that  he  desired  to  retrieve  in  aa 
noble  a  manner  as  possible,  without  harm  or  injury  to 
any  one,  and  in  the  most  honorable  fashion.  So  under 
madame's  ikillfnl  fingers,  the  picture  grew  and  grew 
until  Princess  Helene  began  to  like  it.  Then  came  the 
final  touches  of  how  he  had  returned  home,  had  found 
out  his  mistake  in  every  way,  and  had  fallen  in  love  witk 
Princess  Helene. 

"  My  son,"  continued  the  clever,  skillful  woman,  who 
swayed  people  by  force  of  her  own  talent  —  "  my  son 
would  not  conceal  one  word  of  this  from  yon.  I  need 
not  remind  you.  Belle  Helene,  that  what  has  happened  to 
him  in  England  would  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  the 
legality  and  validity  of  the  marriage  here  in  France." 

"  But,"  asked  Princess  Helene,  with  an  earnest  expres- 
sion in  her  dark  eyes,  "  is  there  no  way  of  making  thig 
marriage  of  his  right,  if — if  he  desires  it  ?  " 

"  He  does  not  desire  it !  "  cried  madame,  eagerly,  "  and 
the  only  way  in  which  it  could  be  made  right  would  be 
by  repeating  the  ceremony  with  my  formal  sanction 
which,  as  I  have  said,  I  would  rather  die  than  give.  It 
was  a  boyish  folly.  Help  him.  Princess  Helene,  to  re- 
deem himself  from  the  effects  of  it.  He  will  never 
love,  never  marry,  unless  he  marries  you.  Do  not  let 
this  boyish  folly  stand  between  you  ;  forgive  him  for 
it ;  he  did  not  know  you  in  those  days.  \Vill  you  for- 
give and  forget  this  disagreeable  incident  in  his  career, 
and  marry  him,  Princess  Helene  ?  "  Tears  shone  in  mad- 
ame's eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  her  proud  face  quivered 
with  emotion.  "  Will  you,"  she  repeated,  eagerly,  "  try 
to  love  him,  and  promise  to  be  his  wife.  Belle  Helene? " 

The  girl  waa  eilent  for  a  few  momeiLt& 


THE   BELLE    OF  LYNN.  197 

"  I  should  like  to  have  time  to  think,"  she  said.  "  I 
cannot  answer  such  an  important  question  in  a  few  mo- 
ments." 

"  What  message  shall  I  take  to  my  son  ? "  asked  mad- 
ame. 

"Tell  Monsieur  le  Comte  that  I  send  him  my  dear 
love ;  that  I  will  think  over  my  answer,  and  that,  if  it  be 
'  Yes,'  when  I  meet  him  to-morrow  evening  at  the  ball 
of  the  British  Embassy  I  shall  wear  a  spray  of  stephanotis 
in  my  dress." 

And  with  that  message  madame  went. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

All  the  instincts  of  her  race — all  the  passionate  love  of 
her  heart,  were  in  his  favor,  yet  Princess  Helene  hesi- 
tated for  a  few  hours.  She  had  the  usual  lofty  patrician 
ideas  that  those  belonging  to  the  lower  classes  were  not 
quite  of  the  same  creation  as  herself.  If  the  same  story 
had  been  told  to  her  of  one  of  her  own  class  of  life,  she 
would  have  hesitated  much  longer;  but  the  miller's 
daughter ! — the  claims  of  such  a  person  could  not  by  any 
possibility  be  worthy  of  consideration  ;  there  could  be 
nothing  in  them ;  they  were  not  worth  a  thought. 

She  had  the  true  aristocratic  impulse  of  insolence  and 
contempt  for  the  lower  classes  which  had  descended  to 
her  from  long  generations — from  the  time  when  the  rights 
of  the  seigneur  over  the  peasant  were  cruel,  wicked,  and 
barbarous  —  when  the  great  lords  of  rich  domains  were 
allowed  to  carry  off  the  wives  and  daughters  of  their  un- 
fortunate dependents ;  the  same  instinct  was  in  the  heart 
of  this  young  girl  now. 

One  of  the  lower  class  stood  in  her  way  —  let  her  be 
swept  out  of  it ;  the  law  was  in  favor  of  so  sweeping  her 
out — let  the  law  take  its  course.  The  picture  madame  had 
so  skillfully  painted  was  still  in  her  mind — the  handsome, 
romantic,  melancholy  young  prince  in  his  dreary  exile, 
and  tke  low-born  English  girl  who  had  taken  advantage 


198  THE  bblij:  of  ltnw. 

of  it  to  thrnst  herself  npon  him  and  to  inveigle  him  into 
what  she  supposed  to  be  a  marriage. 

It  was  strange  that  in  the  heart  of  Princess  Helene 
there  was  no  pity,  no  compassion  for  the  girl  whose 
claims  were  to  be  so  lightly  set  aside.  No  kind  or  pitiful 
thought  entered  her  mind  concerning  her,  a  low-born 
English  girl,  who  had  dared  to  raise  her  ambitious  eyes 
to  the  heir  of  the  Soldanas.  She  would  deserve  all  that 
she  was  about  to  receive ;  she  merited  the  punishment 
that  the  law  would  give  her  —  a  miller's  daughter  to  love 
the  heir  of  the  Soldanas  1  And  she  said  to  herself,  with 
an  air  of  unutterable  contempt,  that  she  knew  what 
English  girls  could  be  when  they  liked,  and  no  doubt  this 
one  had  been  bold  and  forward  in  her  advances  to  him. 

She  must  have  been  —  she  a  miller's  daughter,  he  the 
heir  of  all  the  Soldanas.  No  doubt  his  liandsome  face 
and  princely  bearing  attracted  her,  and  she  had  made 
advances  to  him.  It  was  easier  to  believe  that,  or  any- 
thing else,  than  to  believe  that  the  Comte  de  Soldana  had 
fallen  in  love  with  a  girl  of  low  birth  —  a  miller's  daugh- 
ter ;  and  Princess  Helene  smiled  contemptuously  as  she 
remembered  what  the  low  type  of  English  girls  was  like 
—  very  red  cheeks  and  freckles,  red  sunburned  hands. 
Surely  the  heir  of  the  Soldanas  had  never  loved  one  such 
as  these!  It  was  merely  an  adventure,  a  folly,  such  as 
most  men  had  in  their  lives,  to  be  forgotten,  especially  as 
the  law  was  against  it. 

His  mother,  at  his  request,  had  asked  her  to  overlook 
it,  to  forgive  it,  to  forget  it,  to  help  him  out  of  the  dilem- 
ma, and  she  was  willing  to  do  so.  She  looked  upon  it 
rather  as  an  act  of  justice.  He  had  been  drawn  into  it, 
and  now  the  law  was  helping  him  out  of  it,  and  she  must 
help  him  too.  To  Princess  Helene  it  seemed  that  what 
was  the  law  of  her  country  must  be  right.  It  was  a 
strange  state  of  things ;  but  as  it  existed,  there  was  no 
more  to  be  said  about  it. 

Princess  Helene  had  never  given  much  thought  to  the 
lower  class;  she  lived  in  her  fashion,  haughtily  uncon- 
scious of  them ;  that  they  could  have  the  same  feelings, 
the  same  emotions,  the  same  love,  the  same  pain  as  her- 
self never  crossed  her  mind ;  alut  had  a  lofty  fashion  of 


THE   BELLE   OF  LYNH.  199 

thinking  of  them  as  of  some  inferior  kind  of  creation, 
born  to  their  fate,  and  enabled  to  endure  it  very  cheer- 
fully because  their  very  natures  were  blunted  to  all  more 
refined  and  sensitive  feelings.  She  had  never  troubled 
herself  in  the  least  over  them ;  she  had  never  thought  of 
their  wants  or  their  cares.  She  had  never  soothed  a 
weeping  woman  or  a  sorrowful  child ;  she  had  never  fed 
the  hungry,  or  visited  the  sick.  As  she  was  the  head 
of  a  great  race,  certain  large  sums  were  given  every  year 
in  her  name  for  charitable  purposes,  and  when  the  nation 
gave,  her  name  was  always  foremost  in  the  list ;  but  she 
knew  nothing  of  it ;  she  had  no  personal  interest  in  it. 
So  now,  when  she  came  to  think  over  the  great  question 
of  her  life,  zhe  feelings,  the  pain,  the  sorrow  of  one  of 
that  class  of  which  she  knew  nothing  did  not  afEect  her 
in  the  least,  she  did  not  even  take  them  into  considera- 
tion. That  was  no  part  of  the  difficulty;  an  invalid, 
illegal  marriage  with  a  low-born  English  girl  ought  to 
be  set  aside.  With  her  the  difficulty  was — had  the  count 
loved  her? 

All  the  warm  passion  latent  in  her  nature  seemed  to 
flame  into  life  at  the  bare  thought.  If  he  had  loved  her; 
if  she  had  been  the  first  and  dearest  love  of  his  life,  then 
the  Princess  Helene  would  have  none  of  him.  She 
would  never  share  his  love — never  succeed  to  the  love  of 
another. 

But  his  tiuother  had  told  her  it  was  not  so — he  had  not 
loved  the  miller's  daughter — it  was  only  a  common,  kind- 
ly affection,  born  of  gratitude  that  he  had  for  her,  but 
that  his  love  lay  at  her  feet ;  she  had  but  to  stoop  and 
take  it. 

"  How  I  should  hate  her,"  thought  Princess  Helene, 
"  if  I  thought  he  had  loved  her." 

She  thought  it  well  over ;  she  wished  it  had  been 
otherwise,  and  that  this  incident  in  the  life  of  the  man 
she  loved  had  never  happened,  but,  since  it  had  taken 
place  the  only  thing  was  to  do  the  best  possible  thing 
under  the  circumstances,  and  the  best  thin^  was  for  the 
law  to  take  its  course,  and  for  her  to  help  the  count  out 
of  his  dilemma,  as  his  mother  had  prayed  her  to  do. 

But  the  one  fact  that  caused  her  decision  was  her 


200  THE   BELLE   OP   LTNK. 

great  love  for  the  count.  She  was  almost  niiconscions 
herself  how  great  that  love  was ;  she  was  equally  uncon- 
scious of  how  much  she  was  willing  to  give  up  for  it 

She  waa  thoughtful  enough  all  day,  but  when  eve- 
ning came  she  said  to  her  maid : 

"  What  flowers  have  I  to  wear  to-night,  Finette  ?  " 

And  the  maid's  answer  was  that,  with  her  dress  of 
white  and  gold,  so  cunningly  intermixed  no  one  could 
tell  where  the  white  began  and  the  gold  ended,  there 
were  flowers  of  a  rich  crimson  bloom. 

"  Take  them  away,"  says  Princess  Helene ;  "  I  will 
wear  nothing  but  stephanotis  to-night." 

When  she  entered  the  ball-room,  she  wore  a  spray  of 
the  queenly  flower,  with  its  grand  perfume,  in  the  bod- 
ice of  her  dress. 

Madame  de  Soldana  saw  it  at  once,  and  her  heart  beat 
with  triumph.  She  had  won ;  her  son  would  marry  the 
great  heiress.  She  saw,  with  the  eye  of  her  mind,  un- 
told glories  opening  out  for  the  Sold  anas,  and  her  son 
would  have  for  his  true  wife  the  most  beautiful  girl  and 
the  greatest  heiress  in  France.  She  went  at  once  to  her 
son. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  "  I  am  grateful  and  thankful 
Princess  Helene  is  here ;  and,  my  dear,  bend  your  head 
when  you  remember  the  message  she  sent  you — that  if 
she  consented,  after  hearing  your  story,  to  become  your 
wife,  she  would  wear  a  spray  of  stephanotis.  "  Leon^  it  it 
there!" 

The  young  count's  handsome  face  grew  ghastly  white 
—  he  trembled  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind.  No  criminal 
condemmed  to  rack  ever  felt  worse.  His  self-respect 
had  died  on  the  night  when  Mme.  Soldana  had,  as  it 
were,  extorted  his  promise ;  but  now  all  sense  of  honor 
•eemed  to  die  also. 

"  Courage,  Leon,"  said  madame ;  "  noblesse  oblige  /  " 

"  Do  not  add  satire,  mother,"  he  cried.  "  Isoblesne 
oblige  can  never  more  apply  to  me.  I  have  lost  all 
claim  to  nobility  forever.  " 

"  Leon,"  said  madame,  "  I  begin  to  think  you  are  weak 
of  character,  and  that  is  what  no  Soldana  has  ever  been 
before  jou.    You  have  made  up  jour  mind  to  a  certaia 


THE    BELLE    OF   LYNN.  201 

•onrse ;  go  on  boldly  mth  it ;  what  is  the  use  of  looking 
beck?  I  maintain  thtt  you  are  acting  rightly,  that  you 
are  doing  what  is  best  for  the  honor  of  your  race  and  the 
glory  of  your  house ;  therefore,  I  repeat,  go  on  boldly. 
If  you  feel  that  you,  are  not  doing  what  is  right,  draw 
back  if  you  can,  but  which  ever  course  you  pursue  be 
manly  over  it.  I  hate  to  see  you  with  a  white  face  and 
trembling  limbs.  I  hate  to  see  you  nervous  and  frighten- 
ed like  a  woman." 

His  face  flushed  hotly  under  the  spur  of  her  words. 

"  I  wish,"  he  cried,  bitterly,  "  that  I  were  a  better  man 
or  a  worse.  If  I  uere  better  I  should  not  do  this  deed 
at  all;  I  should  prefer  poverty  and  exile  to  dishonor 
If  I  were  worse  than  I  am,  I  should  feel  more  comfort 
able  in  doing  M-liat  I  feel  to  be  wrong," 

"  Think  of  the  future  that  lies  before  you,"  said  mad- 
arae.  "  That  spray  of  stephanotis  opens  out  to  you  such 
a  future  as  no  other  man  in  France  can  command. 
Courage,  Leon ;  it  will  never  do  to  show  the  white 
feather  now." 

"  I  have  no  such  thought,"  he  replied.  "  I  remember 
all  you  have  said,  mother,  and  I  will  go  to  Princess 
Helene  in  a  few  minutes." 

Then  his  face  grew  deadly  white  again. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Leon  ?  "  asked  madame. 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  not  ill,  but  I  have  a 
etrange  sound  in  my  ears,  and  my  brain  is  whirling." 

Looking  at  him,  madame  saw  in  that  moment  he  was 
not  fit  to  go  to  the  young  heiress.  He  must  recover 
himself.  He  knew  the  sound  in  his  ears  was  the  rushing 
of  the  water;  he  was  looking  at  a  fair,  sweet  face  full  of 
love  for  him.  He  was  holding  a  thin,  white  hand  in  his 
own,  and  he  was  saying,  "  Eemember,  Lima,  that  a 
promise  given  over  running  water  is  doubly  binding." 
Oh,  mockery  of  words  —  mockery  of  love  —  mockery  of 
the  vows  that  he  was  first  to  break. 

That  pitiless  rush  of  running  water  seemed  to  fill  his 
brain.  He  could  hear  it  above  all  the  music  of  the  band, 
while  Piincess  Helene  wondered  that  he  had  not  sought 
her,  and  Madame  de  Soldana  began  to  wonder  what  ahe 
should  do. 


202  THE  BELLE   OP   LTIIN. 

"  Leon,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  yon  must  be  mad.  Honse 
yourself.  Mademoiselle  de  Saison  is  waiting  for  you. 
w  hat  are  you  thinking  of?  "Why  do  you  not  go  to  her? " 

And  as  ne  crossed  the  ball-room,  the  face  of  Lima,  his 
wife,  went  with  him,  with  sweet,  sad  reproach  in  the 
blue  eyes,  and  even  as  he  drew  near  the  princess  he 
wished  that  he  were  dead. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  facc — the  more  beautiful  for  its  blushes- 
was  looking  into  his ;  dark  eyes,  bright  with  love,  droop- 
ed from  his ;  a  white,  jewelled  hand  detached  the  spray 
of  stephanotis  from  her  dress,  and  held  it  out  to  him 
with  a  few  murmured  words  that  he  could  not  hear. 

He  must  beat  back  with  an  iron  hand  these  memories 

that  seemed   to   stifle  him  —  the  broad   sheet  of  Allan 

"Water ;  the  green  banks ;  his  wife's  sweet  face  and  sweet 

voice  singing  so  clearly : 

"  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  sad  as  she." 

He  must  beat  them  back.  It  was  all  over  with  the 
sweet  romance  of  Allan  "Water.  He  was  wooing  a  prin- 
cess now,  and  he  was  to  be  one  of  the  foremost  men  in 
France.  Good-by  to  the  fair,  sweet  face  he  had  kissed  a 
thousand  times;  good-by  to  the  beautiful  lips  that  had 
borne  the  sweetness  of  honey  for  him  ;  good-by  to  the 
lovely  eyes  that  always  brightened  for  him,  but  into 
which  he  should  look  never  more.  Here  was  a  princess 
to  woo,  a  proud,  beautiful  lady,  whose  rich  dress  fell  Uke 
sunbeams  around  her,  and  who  held  out  to  him  the  token 
that  she  loved  him,  the  spray  of  stephanotis.  Farewell 
to  all  dreams  of  Allan  "Water  and  Allan  Mill — this  is  a 
new  life  beginning,  a  priucess  to  woo  and  a  future  to 
make. 

If  Lima  would  but  cease  to  pull  at  his  heart-strings  I 
It  was  necessity,  he  mugt  leave  her :  the  law  commandJed 


THE   BELUC   Ol"   LTNK.  303 

him  to  give  her  up.     If  he  could  but  forget  her  for  this 
half  hour,  at  least,  while  he  wooed  the  princess. 

"With  an  iron  hand  he  crushed  it  down.  He  bent  over 
the  Princess  Helene  and  took  the  flower  from  her  hand. 

"  How  am  I  to  thank  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  are  the 
most  generous  as  you  are  the  most  noble  of  women." 

The  dark  eyes  flashed  into  his  with  a  light  that  seemed 
to  reach  and  penetrate  his  soul. 

"  Are  you  pleased  ?  "  she  asked,  simply. 

"  I  am  more  than  that,"  he  answered.  "  How  shall  J 
thank  you  ?  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  thank  me  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  he  answered. 

"  We  will  go  through  the  galleries,"  she  said ;  "  there 
are  pictures  I  long  to  see." 

But,  in  spite  of  her  longing.  Princess  Helene  saw  none 
of  the  magnificent  pictures  hanging  in  the  galleries  that 
evening — not  one. 

The  galleries  were  brilliantly  lighted,  and  filled  with 
flowers ;  there  were  pretty  recesses  amongst  them. 

"  I  will  rest  here,"  said  Princess  Helene. 

A  beautiful  woman,  surrounded  by  flowers,  rich  blooms 
and  rich  perfumes  all  around  her — a  proud  face  softened 
into  marvelleous  beauty  by  love  —  dark  eyes  that  sought 
his  laden  with  the  secret  she  had  to  tell  —  a  white  neck, 
on  which  the  gleaming  diamonds  rose  and  fell — a  smiling 
grace  and  tenderness  that,  coming  from  one  so  proud  and 
haughty,  were  doubly  charming ;  all  this  drew  his  atten- 
tion and  compelled  him  to  admire  her. 

"  You  want  to  thank  me,''  she  said,  and  the  voice  that 
uttered  the  words  was  sweet  as  the  wind  that  blows  over 
fresh  orange-blossoms,     "  Thank  me  now." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  shall  think  of  you  every  moment  of  my  life,"  he 
said. 

Then  he  muttered  an  oath  between  his  closed  teeth ; 
for  there  it  was  again  —  the  rush  of  the  running  water, 
and  the  clear  voice  raised  above  it !  Would  the  sound 
never  die  from  his  ear  ?  For  one  single  half  hour,  while 
he  wooed  the  princess,  could  he  not  forget  ? 

"  Your  mother  gave  you  my   message  ? "    she  said. 


dOi  THK  BBLLB  OF   LTKH. 

"  And  yon  see  you  have  the  stephanotis.  But,*'  she 
added  looking  into  the  handsome,  agitated  face,  "  why 
did  you  not  tell  me  that  story  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  could  not,"  he  replied. 

"  "Were  you  afraid  that  it  would  prove  a  barrier  be- 
tween us  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  hated  himself  as  he  answered,  "  Yes,  I  was  afraid." 
^  "  You  need  not  have  been,"  she  replied.  "  I  under- 
stand, and  I  think  you  are  acting  wisely.  I  should  like 
to  ask  you  one  more  question,  if  I  may  ?  " 

"  Ask  what  you  will,  Princess  Heleue,"  he  answered. 

"  1  should  like  to  know  if  you  loved  her — I  mean  after 
the  English  fashion,  where  a  man  marries  for  love.  Did 
you  love  her  ? " 

He  hated  himself  as  he  answered,  "  I  would  rather  not 
speak  of  it,  Princess  Helene." 

"  But  I  wish  to  know.  I  have  had  my  dreams  of  the 
man  I  should  like  to  love  and  marry.  First  and  fore- 
most, his  love  must  be  all  my  own.  I  should  not  like 
the  second  part  and  place  in  his  affections.  Did  you 
love  her  ? " 

He  hated  himself  still  more  as  he  answered,  slowly, 
"  It  was  a  boyish  infatuation,  and  I  was  so  terribly 
alone." 

"  Yes,  you  must  have  been.  I  understand  how  it  was ; 
Madame  la  Comtesse  told  me.  You  have  my  truest  sym- 
pathy. That  was  the  greatest  barrier  in  my  mind.  I 
could  never  be  second  m  the  heart  of  the  man  I  loved 
and  married." 

"  You  would  not  be  second  in  mine,"  he  said. 

He  owned  to  himself,  with  bitter  contempt,  as  he 
spoke,  that  he  could  fall  no  lower  —  sink  no  lower  in  his 
own  esteem,  and  his  mother  had  used  these  words,  no- 
blesse oblige,  to  him.  The  light  grew  brighter  on  that 
beautiful  face. 

"  I  am  a  French  girl,"  she  said.  "  All  my  sympathy, 
all  my  feeling,  all  ray  love  is  for  France ;  but  no  one  dis- 
likes the  French  system  of  love  and  marriage  more  than 
I  do.  I  do  not  think  it  conduces  to  happiness  or  to  the 
well-being  of  society.  Since  I  was  old  enough  to  think 
Qi  jBoeh  things  at  all,"  contlnaed  Princess  Helene,  '^I 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  205 

have  always  resolved  not  to  marry  for  wealth,  or  position, 
but  for—" 

Then  her  voice  faltered. 

"But  for  what?"  asked  the  young  count,  bending 
over  her. 

"  For  love,"  she  answered. 

That  was  the  supreme  moment  of  her  life.  She  spoke 
out  clearly  and  well.  There  was  no  hesitation  in  her 
voice.     She  loved  him,  and  he  might  know  it. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  looking  into  the  dark  eyes,  "  I  may 
infer  from  that,  Princess  Helene,  that  you — " 

He  paused,  hardly  daring  to  utter  the  words. 

"  That  I  love  you,"  she  said,  gently.  "  Yes,  Monsieur 
le  Comte,  it  is  simply  and  perfectly  true  that  I  love 
you." 

She  seemed  to  gain  courage  as  she  went  on. 

"  I  have  been  proud  and  unyielding  all  my  live,"  she 
said,  "and  I  never  thought  that  such  words  would  fall 
easily  from  my  lips,  but  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart." 

She  expected  some  transport  of  gratitude,  some  few 
words  of  delight,  but  the  face  into  which  she  looked  was 
as  the  face  of  the  dead. 

For  he  had  ground  another  smothered  oath  between 
his  teeth.  He  had  not  been  able  to  hear  what  she  said, 
for  his  ears  were  filled  with  the  rush  of  running  waters 
and  the  singing  of  a  sweet,  sad  voice. 

"  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  sad  as  she." 

"  I  love  you,"  repeated  Princess  Helene,  "  and  I  am 
willing  to  place  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life  in  your 
hands." 

"  You  shall  never  regret  it,"  he  answered.  To  have 
saved  his  life  he  could  have  found  nothing  else  to  say. 

A  wave  of  memory  swept  over  him  of  the  passionate 
wooing  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  of  the  passionate 
kisses  he  had  given  to  Lima  when  they  were  in  the  boat 
afloat  among  the  water-lilies.  It  was  a  different  matter 
wooing  a  princess. 

A  wistful  expression  crept  into  her  dark  eyes,  and  he 
saw  it.     It  touched  his  heart  more  than  all  tier  loving 


806  THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

words  had  done,  for  she,  this  great  and  beautiful  heirefls, 
loved  him. 

"  You  shall  never  regret  it,"  he  said,  speaking  more 
warmly,  and  taking  in  his  own  the  hand  that  had  given 
him  the  spray  of  stephanotis.  "  I  will  devote  myself  to 
making  you  happy." 

Then  all  her  pride  and  hauteur  seemed  to  fall  from  her 
like  a  garment.  She  was  no  longer  Princess  Helene,  she 
was  no  longer  the  great  heiress  and  beauty  at  whose  feet 
the  hearts  of  so  many  men  lay ;  she  became  a  simple, 
loving  girl,  whose  passionate  heart  found  vent  in  simple 
words — simple  and  true — as  Lima  herself  would. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  with  you,"  she  said.  "  I  will  tell 
you  now  what  has  been  a  secret  in  my  own  heart  until 
now.  I  have  always  cared  for  you,  and  loved  you,  from 
the  first  moment  I  saw  you." 

"  You  make  me  the  proudest  and  happiest  of  men ! " 
he  cried ;  but,  do  as  he  would,  do  the  best  he  could,  he 
could  not  speak  with  any  enthusiasm.  Wooing  a  princess 
was  a  very  diflEerent  thing  from  wooing  Lima  on  the 
banks  of  Allan  Water. 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  so  full  of  faith  and  trust 
that  his  heart  ached. 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  have 
wondered  often  since  I  saw  you  —  first,  if  your  heart 
would  ever  turn  to  me  ?  I  am  glad  it  has  done  so.  I  am 
glad  and  happy  that  you  love  me  —  for  you  do  love  me 
—  do  you  not  ?  " 

He  had  not  one  moment  to  wait ;  if  he  had  hesitated, 
he  would  have  said  no,  and  so  lost  all.  He  answered  as 
quickly  as  he  could  speak : 

"  Yes,  I  love  yon,  Princess  Helene." 

A  smile  of  anutterable  content  parted  her  lips. 

"  I  am  happy,"  she  murmured,  gently.  "  I  am  the 
happiest  girl  that  lives  on  earth.  And  you  do  not  —  you 
never  did  love  her  ? " 

"  A  boyish  fancy,"  he  answered.  He  dared  not  to  say 
that  he  had  never  loved  her ;  it  seemed  to  him  almost  as 
though  the  utterance  of  such  words  must  strike  him  dead. 

**  1  think,"  said  Princess  Helene,  "  that  we  have  a  ioug 


THE   BELi.K    <F   LYNN.  207 

and  happy  life  before  ds,  with  brighter  prospects  than 
fall  to  the  lot  of  most  people." 

"  I  shall  have  you  to  thank  for  all  that  is  most  pleasant 
in  mine,"  he  said. 

"  And  I  shall  have  you  to  thank  for  all  that  is  happiest 
in  mine,"  said  Princess  Helene. 

Then  he  admired  the  beauty  of  the  white  hand  he  still 
held  clasped  in  his  own ;  he  kissed  it,  and  then  the  won- 
drous beauty  of  the  face  struck  him  SrS  it  had  never  done 
before.  Then  came  a  moment  when,  in  answer  to  some- 
thing that  Princess  Helene  said,  he  kissed  the  proud  lips, 
and  then  it  seemed  as  if  she  gave  her  heart,  her  love,  and 
her  life  to  him  for  evermore. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

When  that  brilliant  ball  had  ended,  when  he  had 
placed  Princess  Helene  in  her  carriage,  her  dark  eyes 
looking  a  tender  "  good-night "  into  his,  her  hand  still 
warm  with  the  clasp  of  his,  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
was  the  most  miserable  man  in  the  wide  world,  for  he 
had  done  the  most  shameful  deed  in  it,  and  he  had  al- 
ways been  so  proud  of  himself  as  an  honorable  man. 

True  that  he  had  acted  in  accordance  with  the  law,  and 
with  the  spirit  of  the  law;  true  that  many  others  had 
done  the  same  thing ;  true  that  he  had  read,  since  his 
motlier  called  his  attention  to  them,  the  histories  of  sev- 
eral lawsuits  wherein  minors  like  himself  had  contracted 
marriages,  which  said  marriages  had  been  set  aside  in 
every  case  as  invalid  and  illegal.  Notwithstanding  all 
that,  he  felt  on  himself  the  brand  of  villainy. 

And  yet,  he  asked  himself,  how  few  could  have  re- 
sisted such  a  temptation  ?  On  the  one  side — France,  his 
fair  domains,  his  titles,  honors,  wealth,  and  the  brilliant 
prospects  that  his  marriage  with  Princess  Helene  opened 
out  to  hira  —  compliance  with  the  law,  his  mother's 
happiness,  the  glory  and  honor  of  his  race ;  on  the  other 
—  poverty,  the  extinction  of  his  family,  exile  and  Lima. 

A  terrible  temptation !    And  the  law  was  on  bis  side. 


S08  THE  BELLE   Of   LYNN. 

Had  he  been  a  bad  man,  deliberately  plotting  how  he 
could  ruin  an  innocent  girl,  how  he  conld  betray  and 
desert  her,  it  would  have  been  a  difEerent  matter ;  but  it 
was  the  very  law  of  his  own  land  that  made  his  marriage 
invalid,  and  compelled  him,  for  position's  sake,  to  leave 
her. 

He  said  to  himself  that  it  was  hardly  to  be  called 
yielding  to  a  temptation,  but  rather  to  a  necessity.  He 
could  not  rest,  and  he  could  not  sleep.  Far  into  the 
night  madame  heard  him  pacing  his  room  with  restless 
footsteps,  and  when  she  could  bear  it  no  longer  she  went 
to  him. 

"  Leon,  my  son,"  she  said,  "  let  me  come  in.  I  cannot 
sleep,  because  I  know  that  you  are  unhappy.  Let  me 
come  in  and  talk  to  you." 

He  unfastened  the  door,  and  madame  entered  his  room. 
A  cry  of  pain  and  wonder  rose  to  her  lips  when  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  face  of  her  son,  so  white,  worn  and  haggard. 

"  Leon,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  suffering." 

He  laughed  with  bitter  contempt. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  replied.  "  I  suffer  greatly.  It  is 
not  natural  that  the  best  part  of  a  man  should  die  with- 
out it,  and  I  may  say  that  the  best  part  of  me  has  died 
by  inches." 

"  Sentiment,  Leon,"  said  madame,  quietly.  "  When 
you  lose  a  little  more  of  that  you  will  be  all  right,"  but 
she  could  not  affect  to  remain  insensible  to  the  pain  she 
read  in  his  face. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  help  you,  Leon  ? "  she  asked.  "  I 
know,  of  course,  that  you  must  suffer.  Decide  which 
way  you  will,  you  cannot  escape  pain.  Can  I  help  you  ? 
— can  I  do  anything  that  will  comfort  or  console  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  help 
me,  mother  —  no  one  can.  I  must  bear  my  weight  of 
shame  and  sorrow  alone — until  I  die." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  madame,  half  scornfully,  "  you  would 
rather  give  up  all  the  wealth  and  privileges  that  you 
were  so  delighted  to  regain,  and  return  to  exile  and  what 
you  are  pleased  to  call  love  ? " 

"No,"  he  replied,  bitterly;  I  am  not  insincere. 
Prankly  speaking,  I  have_jiot  the  courage  to  give  np  my 


THE  BELLK   OP  LTKN.  200 

present  life  and  return  to  exile.  I  conld  not  do  it,  moth- 
er— now." 

Madame's  face  beamed  with  delight.  This  was  indeed 
triumph.  To  hear  him  say  these  words  was  to  her  proof 
complete  of  how  perfect  her  triumph  was.  She  could 
afford  to  be  kind  and  sympathetic,  now  that  the  vic- 
tory was  won. 

"  I  can  help  you  in  one  way,"  she  said.  "  Leave  the 
management  of  this  affair  in  my  hands.  I  will  settle  it 
all  for  you.  I  know  you  are  agitated  by  the  thought  of 
disagreeable  scenes  You  shall  be  spared  them.  Leave 
all  to  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  which  will  be  most  cruel,"  he  said : 
"to  tell  her  myself,  or  leave  it  to  you.  Oh,  Lima,  my 
loving,  gentle  darling,  that  it  should  "have  come  to  this ! 

"I  think,"  said  madarae,  "it  would  be  much  better 
to  leave  it  to  me.  I  could  say  many  things  for  you  that 
you  cannot  say  for  yourself.  You  would  be  easily  influ- 
enced —  easily  worked  upon ;  I  should  not.  However 
painful  the  scenes  that  come  before  me,  I  shall  have 
strength  of  mind  to  go  through  them,  because  I  shall 
keep  that  one  thought  of  the  Soldanas  before  my  eyes." 

"  Honor  —  that  has  no  longer  any  existence,"  he  said, 
mournfully.  "  That  is  a  phrase  which  all  my  life  1  shall 
dislike  and  dread  to  hear.  The  honor  of  the  Soldanas, 
and  I,,  the  last  of  the  race — what  am  I  ? " 

"  '  The  noblest  Roman  of  them  all,'  "  quoted  madame, 
with  a  smile.  "  Not  the  least  of  them  all,  by  any  means, 
because  you  have  had  the  courage  to  make  a  grand 
sacrifice." 

"  I  have  sacrificed  Lima,"  he  said,  sadly.  "  I  do  not 
know  what  to  do  —  how  to  proceed.  I  am  married  in 
England,  according  to  the  English  law.  I  have  a  wife 
there.  Yet  I  am  engaged  to  marry  Princess  Helene. 
There  never  was,  never  could  be,  a  more  humiliating 
situation." 

"  It  will  all  come  right  in  the  end,"  said  madame.  "  A 
little  patience,  a  little  courage,  and  all  will  be  well.  I 
must  help  you,  Leon.  I  have  been  thinking  it  over.  I 
will  go  to  England  for  you,  and  settle  what  is,  I  own,  a 
yery  unpleasant  piece  of  busiueuss.     There  need   be  no 


SIO  THS  BELLB   OF   LTHK. 

lawsoit,  no  exposure,  no  publicity,  no  scandal.  I  will  go 
to  see  her,  and  tell  her  exactly  how  the  matter  stands. 
If  she  has  any  sense  at  all,  she  will  listen  to  me  and  fol- 
low oat  my  suggestions." 

Count  de  Soldana  looked  at  his  mother  in  wonder ;  he 
could  not  fancy  her  talking  to  Lima,  or  standing  by  tlie 
banks  of  Allan  Water,  or  watching  the  blue  pigeons  fly 
over  the  red  roof  of  the  old  mill. 

"  Would  you  really  do  that  for  me  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Go 
to  England  and  tell  her  yourself,  and — and  try  your  best 
to  comfort  her?  Oh,  mother,"  he  cried,  with  something 
like  a  sob,  "  you  do  not  know  how  she  loves  me !  " 

He  thought  of  their  parting  at  the  station,  of  their 
farewell,  of  her  bitter  grief,  of  his  promise  to  be  back 
long  before  the  leaves  grew  on  the  trees,  and  he  shud- 
dered as  he  realized  what  she  must  sufEer. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  mother,"  he  said,  "  as  though  you 
were  going  away,  sword  in  hand,  to  stab  her.  If  she 
cared  less  for  me,  if  she  loved  me  less,  it  would  not  be 
half  so  horrible.  I  do  not  think  I  could  bear  it.  It 
would  seem  worse  than  murder  to  me — it  does  seem 
flo  now." 

"  Trust  to  me,"  said  Madame  de  Soldana.  "  You 
have  won  my  gratitude  by  yielding  to  my  wishes  in  what 
1  know  to  be  the  most  important  step  in  your  life.  I 
will  repay  you  by  being  kindness,  itself,  Leon ;  I  will, 
J:;deed.  She  shall  have  an  income  settled  upon  her  that 
will  keep  her  in  more  than  comfort." 

He  looked  at  his  mother  quite  suddenly. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  "  if — if  her  father  will  take  her 
back  again.     He  was  so  unwilling  to  give  her  to  me." 

^^UntoUlinff"  repeated  madame.  "  He  ought  to  have 
ifelt  honored  beyond  all  measure  that  you  honored  the 
girl  with  any  notice  at  all." 

The  young  count  thought  of  the  scene  in  the  little 
arbor  at  the  mill,  and  of  the  look  on  the  miller's  face 
■when  he  bade  him  beware  lest  he  might  commit  murder. 

"  If  she  had  been  the  noblest  lady  in  the  land,  mother, 
and  I  the  poorest  peasant,  her  father  could  not  have  been 
more  unwilling  to  give  her  to  me.  He  has  never  seen 
or  spoken  to  her  since  her  marriage,  and   the  kindest 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  211 

word  he  has  for  her  is  '  that  he  hopes  the  curse  of  the 
disobedient  may  follow  her  and  cling  to  her  so  long  as 
she  lives.' " 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?  "  asked  madame,  looking  unnsnally 
impressed.  "  Poor  child !  "  The  words  fell  almost  un- 
consciously from  her  lips.  "  But  you  see,  Leon,"  she 
added,  "  that  the  curse  is  fulfilled  —  the  curse  of  the  dis^ 
obedient  has  followed  her.  She  married  you  against  hei 
father's  wish — in  defiance  of  his  expressed  commands — 
and  the  very  marrias^e  turns  out  to  be  invalid  and  worth- 
less. I  think,"  continued  madame,  "  that  I  have  never 
heard,  in  my  whole  life,  of  a  more  signal  retribution. 
'  The  curse  of  the  disobedient ! '  What  a  phrase  !  How 
keenly  he  must  have  felt  to  have  spoken  so." 

"  And  what  an  arrant  coward,  what  a  villain  I  must  be, 
after  taking  her  from  such  a  father  and  such  a  home,  to 
abandon  her !  Yet,  oh,  my  fair  and  well-loved  France, 
how  leave  thee  ?  Mother,  it  would  have  been  better  for 
me  to  have  died  away  in  England  there,  and  have  been 
laid  to  rest  by  the  shore  of  Allan  Water." 


SIS  TBS  SSLLS  OF  LTim. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"  The  sooner  it  is  done,  now,  the  better,"  said  madame 
to  herself ;  "  all  delay  is  dangerous.  I  will  go  to  England 
Bext  week." 

She  watched  with  keen  anxiety  the  next  meeting  be- 
tween Princess  Helene  and  her  son.  She  found  there 
was  no  cause  for  anxiety  ;  the  girl  was  too  much  engross- 
ed in  the  beauty  and  happiness  of  her  love's  young 
dream  to  notice  anything  amiss  with  her  lover.  That  he 
seemed  unhappy  or  distrait  never  occurred  to  her.  She 
had  told  him  that  she  loved  him,  and  she  had  promised, 
when  all  these  disagreeable  affairs  were  ended,  to  become 
his  wife ;  surely  that  ought  to  content  any  man — to  make 
any  man  happy. 

Princess  Helene  considered  the  gift  of  her  love  and 
the  promise  of  her  hand  the  greatest  favor  the  earth 
could  grant.  It  was  only  in  her  presence  that  Count  de 
Soldana  made  the  faintest  pretence  at  happiness;  apart 
from  her  he  was  silent,  brooding  always  over  melanclioly 
thoughts — completely  changed — all  his  gayety  and  light- 
heartedness  gone  forever,  yet,  rousing  himself  every  now 
and  then,  asking  himself  why  he  need  be  so  unutter- 
ably miserable,  when  after  all,  he  was  simply  obeying 
the  law  of  the  land  —  setting  aside  a  marriage  that  noth- 
ing could  legalize  or  make  valid. 

"  A  wife  in  England — no  wife  in  France."  It  was  the 
law,  and  he  must  obey  it ;  but  his  self-respect  was  gone, 
never  to  return. 

When  he  was  with  Princess  Helene,  her  beauty,  her 
wit  and  talent,  her  absorbing  love  for  him  made  him 
comparatively  cheerful  and  happy.  He  laughed  with 
her,  and  she  had,  in  perfection,  the  happy  faculty  that 
charms  all  men — the  power  to  amuse  them  and  make 
them  laugh.  No  one  ever  passed  a  dull  quarter  of  an 
bonr  with  Princess  Heleoe,     When  he  was  with  her,  he 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  213 

forgot   all  else,  but  when  absent  from  h«r  he  was  the 
most  miserable  of  men. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  there  should  be  no  formal  an- 
nouncement of  the  engagement  until  this  "  disagreeable 
affair  "  in  England  had  been  settled.  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  and  Madame  Vesey  both  agreed  in  that.  The 
young  people  could  meet,  could  see  more  of  each  other, 
learn  to  know  each  other  better. 

"  The  disagreeable  affair  "  in  England  would  be  man- 
aged very  smoothly.  Madame  de  Soldana  would  go  her- 
self ;  she  would  undertake  to  conduct  the  affair,  and  the 
lawyers  of  course,  must  finish  it.  The  marriage  must  be 
pronounced  null  and  void  according  to  French  law ;  and 
then  a  settlement  must  be  made  upon  the  young  person 
— that  would  end  it.  As  soon  as  she  returned  from 
England  the  engagement  must  be  announced,  and  the 
marriage  take  place  as  quickly  as  so  grand  a  ceremony 
could  be  arranged. 

That  was  madame's  programme,  and  it  seemed  a  very 
fair  one.  She  would  not  tell  either  Madame  Vesey  or 
Princess  Helene  that  she  was  going  to  England — better 
that  they  should  not  know  it.  Neither  would  she  take 
maid  or  attendent  with  her. 

"  We  cannot  be  too  careful,"  she  said  to  her  son, 
when  he  implored  her  not  to  travel  without  an  escort. 
"  If  I  take  no  one  with  me,  there  will  be  no  one  to  re- 
peat what  takes  place,  or  to  tell  what  happens." 

Greatly  to  his  distress,  she  started  alone,  and  never  for 
one  moment  while  she  was  away  did  his  own  words 
leave  him  —  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  she  were 
going,  sword  in  hand,  to  slay  the  beautiful  and  gentle  girl 
whose  only  fault  had  been  loving  him  too  well. 

The  hoar  came  when  his  mother  started  for  England 
on  the  mission  which  shame  forbade  him  to  fill  himself. 
He  never  forgot  the  date  or  the  day ;  it  was  warm  and 
bright  for  the  time  of  the  year,  with  a  blue  sky  and  a 
faint  odor  of  autumn  flowers  that  were  living  still  —  the 
10th  of  November  and  he  remembered  with  a  bitter  sigh 
that  he  had  been  away  nearly  a  year,  he  who  was  to  have 
returned  before  the  leaves  were  on  the  trees. 

Madame  de  Soldana  bade  him  a  cheery  farewell* 


214  THE   BBLLB   OP   LTNN. 

"  It  seems  a  strange  thing  to  be  able  to  travel  from 
France  to  England  without  fear  and  without  disguise. 
And  now,  Leon,  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines  —  profit 
by  my  absence.  I  hope  to  bring  you  back  liberty  and 
freedom  and  all  good  tidings.  Trust  me,"  she  added, 
"  to  make  everything  right  with  the  young  person.  1 
shall  persuade  her  either  to  go  back  home  or  to  go  to 
America,  where  she  would  in  all  probability  marry 
again." 

Oh,  Heaven !  the  spasm  of  horror  that  seized  him  at  the 
thought.  Lima  married  again ;  the  girl  whom  he  had 
loved,  wooed,  won,  worshiped,  married  to  another !  and 
something  told  him  it  could  never  be,  that  for  Lima  there 
could  be  no  other  love,  no  other  marriage  possible. 
Madame  la  Comtesse  saw  from  the  pain  on  his  face  that 
she  had  made  a  terrible  mistake,  and  she  repented  her 
hastily  spoken  words. 

"  You  are  sure  that  I  have  spoken  the  address  right," 
she  said  —  "Sweetbrier  Cottage,  near  Lynn." 

How  the  picture  of  the  cottage  rose  before  him,  buried 
almost  in  the  spreading  boughs  of  the  green  trees.  He 
could  see  the  little  garden,  with  its  old-fashioned  flowei's, 
where  in  the  summer  evenings  he  used  to  sit,  happy 
enough  with  his  cigar  and  coffee,  while  Lima  sat  near  to 
him  working  or  reading,  her  every  thought  intent  upon 
him.  He  remembered,  and  the  memory  brought  back  to 
him  most  bitter  pain,  one  evening  when  he  had  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  and  told  her  that  he  was  the  happiest 
of  the  Soldanas  because,  having  lost  everything  else,  he 
Btill  had  her.  He  remembered  the  rapture  of  love  and 
content  that  had  overspread  her  beautiful  face,  and  he 
loathed  himself  more  than  he  had  ever  done  before. 

Madame  de  Soldana  went  on  her  way,  and  her  son  re- 
turned to  his  luxurious  home.  A  ijote  came  from  Mad- 
ame de  Vesey,  asking  him,  as  Madame  Comtesse  was  out 
of  town,  to  dine  with  them  and  spend  the  evening  with 
them.  It  was  because  he  could  not  bear  the  agony  of 
his  own  thoughts  that  he  went. 

Do  as  he  would,  he  followed  madame  every  step  of  the 
way,  do  as  he  would,  he  could  not  tear  his  thoughts  from 
Lima  and  the  banks  of  Allan  Water. 


THE   BELLE   OF  LTNN.  915 

Princess  Helene  laughed,  talked  and  enng  to  him. 
She  was  superbly  dressed,  her  beauty  was  shown  to  its 
greatest  perfection.  She  was  more  animated,  more  viva- 
cious than  he  had  ever  seen  her,  and  yet  he  conld  not 
take  his  thoughts  from  what  was  going  to  pass  on  the 
banks  of  Allan  Water. 

"  You  are  grave  and  distant,  Leon,"  said  Princess 
Helene.  "  You  have  deep  lines  on  your  face  —  wli  y 
need  yon?  Why  should  you,  when  you  know  that  1 
love  you  ?  " 

Princess  Helene  was  one  of  those  who  saw  nothing 
outside  herself.  If  her  lover  looked  grave,  it  must  be 
that  he  was  anxious  or  fearful  lest  she  did  not  care  suf- 
ficiently for  him,  and  her  only  idea,  if  she  saw  him  look 
grave  or  anxious,  was  to  reassure  him  and  repeat  to  him 
her  earnest  protestations. 

If  any  one  had  told  her  that  he  was  quite  satisfied 
with  the  assurance  of  her  love,  and  needed  no  more,  but 
that  his  thoughts  and  interest  were  absorbed  by  that  dis^ 
agreeable  English  affair,  she  would  not  have  believed  it, 

"  I  love  you,  Leon,"  she  said ;  "  do  not  look  troubled 
or  anxious,  dear.     How  long  will  madame  be  away  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered. 

"  She  has  gone  to  Belle  d'Or,  I  understand,"  said  Prin- 
cess Helene ;  "  she  told  me  that  she  stood  sorely  in  need 
of  a  few  days'  rest.  Come  and  sing  some  of  Mendels- 
sohn's duets  with  me." 

He  rose  and  went  with  her  to  the  piano,  but  while  he 
sung,  and  while  the  two  beautiful  young  voices  floated 
through  the  room,  he  was  with  his  mother  all  the  time  on 
her  journey.  He  was  with  her  in  the  train,  then  he 
could  hear  the  wash  of  the  waves  on  the  shore.  He  was 
with  her  on  board  the  steamboat,  he  could  hear  the 
throbbing  of  the  great  engines  and  the  rush  of  the 
water  through  the  wheels ;  he  was  with  her  when  the 
passengers  landed  and  exchanged  steamboat  for  train. 

He  was  with  her  as  the  train  went  at  full  speed 
through  the  land ;  he  sees  green  woods  in  the  distance, 
and  a  great  broad  mere,  which  he  knows  is  Allan  Water ; 
he  sees  the  picturesque  old  mill  and  the  stream,  then 
down  the  high-road  to  lovely,  leafy  Lynn. 


216  THE  BELLE  OP  LT5H. 

There  is  the  grammar  school  where  he  had  taught, 
with  its  room  darkened  by  tall  trees  that  grew  all  around 
it,  down  the  pictnresqne  old  streets  out  on  to  a  beautiful 
road,  and  there  in  the  midst  of  the  trees  stands  the  cot- 
tage. He  sees  his  mother  open  the  garden-gate,  and  rap 
at  the  door  that  was  always  set  wide  open  for  liim  ;  he 
could  see  Lima  going  to  her,  full  of  wonder  and  eurprise, 
and  his  mother  holds  the  sword  in  her  hand  with  which 
to  slay  her. 

And  the  fancy  is  so  vivid,  so  real,  that  he  cries  out  in 
passionate  pain.  Princess  Helene  looks  at  him  with 
wondering  eyes,  and  he  is  ashamed  of  himself. 

"What  is  it,  count?"  asked  the  beautiful  h«irefle; 
"  are  you  hurt  or  ill  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  was  dreaming,"  he  said. 

"  How  can  a  man  dream  while  he  is  singing  ? "  she 
asked,  half  inclined  to  be  offended,  because  she  did  not 
know  what  he  was  dreaming  about. 

"I  saw — it  was  only  a  vivid,  foolish  fancy,  which 
passed  as  it  came  —  I  saw  a  sword  raised,  and  ready  to 
fall,"  he  answered. 

"  You  have  been  thinking  of  the  days  of  the  Revolu- 
tion," she  said ;  "  they  will  never  return  ;  we  shall  never 
see  another  queen  on  the  scaffold." 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  said,  and  to  neither  of  them  came  a 
thought  of  the  time  when  the  beautiful  empress  would 
fly  for  her  life,  and  seek  protection  on  English  shores. 

"  I  will  not  sing  any  more,"  said  Princess  Helene. 
"  I  thought  music  would  cheer  you,  but  it  seems  to  make 
you  more  melancholy ;  let  us  play  a  game  at  chess." 

Princess  Helene  liked  to  play  a  game  at  chess ;  she 
could  show  off  the  matchless  beauty  of  her  white  arms. 
The  chess-board  was  brought  out,  and  they  sat  down. 

How  would  his  mother  break  it  to  her  ?  In  what  words 
would  she  tell  her  that  her  marriage  was  illegal,  and  that 
although  she  was  his  wife  in  England,  she  was  no  wife  in 
France  ?  How  could  Lima  bear  it  ?  Would  she  cry  out, 
or  faint,  or  fall,  or  die  ? 

Two  dark  eyes  were  looking  earnestly  into  his,  and 
Princess  Helene  was  saying,  in  a  low,  tender  voice : 


THE   BELLE    OF    LYNN.  217 

"I  am  sure  you  are  not  well,  Leon.  I  shall  grow 
anxious  over  you  soon." 

And  he  said  to  himself  that  he  should  go  uud  if  tkese 
thoughts  did  not  cease  to  haunt  him. 


CHAPTER  XLin. 

Although  it  was  November,  there  were  no  fogs  on  the 
banks  of  Allen  Water ;  the  sun  shone,  although  it  never 
now,  as  in  summer-time,  brightened  the  waters  into  a 
sheen  of  gold  ;  they  were  dark,  tranquil,  and  icy  cold, 
yet  the  sun  shone  on  them ;  the  sedges  and  reeds  were 
green,  but  the  boughs  of  the  lime-trees  were  all  bare, 
and  no  flowers  grew  by  the  margin  ;  the  water-lilies  were 
all  dead.  Still,  Allan  "Water  was  beautiful  in  its  wintery 
dress.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  Novembers  that  have  in 
them  a  lingering  touch  of  Autumn  ;  a  few  leaves  linger, 
golden  crimson  and  russet  brown  ;  the  sky  keeps  its  blue, 
and  the  brambles  by  the  hedge-side  are  full  of  color. 

There  was  no  discontent  about  the  weather  this 
November  ;  every  one  praised  it,  but  hoped  it  would  not 
be  followed  by  too  severe  a  winter. 

On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water  stood  one  who  watched 
sunlight  and  blue  skies  with  sad  eyes  and  a  sad  he£u*t ;  he 
had  been  away  nearly  a  year,  and  when  he  went  it  was 
but  to  have  been  for  a  few  days,  and  already  winter  was 
nigh  at  hand. 

She  had  changed  greatly  during  these  few  months ; 
she  was  quite  unlike  the  bright-eyed  Lima  whose  fair 
face  had  made  sunshine  in  the  old  home.  She  was  like 
a  drooping  flower  ;  the  graceful  lines  of  the  tall,  slender 
figure  were  there  no  longer,  she  was  pale  and  thin ;  the 
dainty  bloom  had  gone  from  her  face ;  the  light  had  gone 
from  her  eyes  ;  even  the  sheen  seemed  less  bright  on  her 
golden  hair.  A  flower,  still  fair  and  sweet,  but  over 
whom  a  blight  had  fallen. 

That  day  she  had  been  almost  desperate.  The  fever 
of  pain  had  risen  until  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  very 
heurt  was  on  lire.     She  could  not  bear  the  little  cottage 


218  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

that  yet  seemed  filled  with  his  presence.  She  could  not 
bear  the  rooms  that  his  handsome  face  had  brightened, 
nor  the  chair  in  the  pretty  bay-window  where  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  sit,  nor  the  nook  in  the  garden 
where  he  had  liked  best  to  sit,  where  the  flowers  that  he 
had  called  the  white  lilies  of  France  grew.  She  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  It  was  with  the  pained  and  passionate 
cry  of  a  wounded  dam  that  she  went  out  of  the  house 
that  November  afternoon. 

Down  to  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  where  she  could 
see  the  red  roof  of  the  old  home  and  the  flight  of  the 
blue  pigeons,  the  home  she  had  left  in  sorrow,  and  was 
never  to  enter  more. 

There  was  the  boat.  There  was  the  spot  where  the 
water-lilies  grew,  where  he  had  kissed  her  and  caressed 
her  while  her  heart  beat  with  happiness  ;  there  was  the 
running  water  —  singing  now  as  it  had  sung  then  —  over 
which  he  had  held  her  hands  clasped  while  she  made 
him  her  promise. 

"  A  promise  made  over  the  running  water  is  doubly 
binding."  She  could  hear  the  very  tones  of  his  voice  as 
he  uttered  the  words,  hut  where  was  he  f 

She  could  not  understand  it.  His  long  absence  was  a 
marvel  to  her.    Where  was  he  \    What  was  he  doing  ? 

He  had  not  forgotten  her,  for  the  hurriedly  written 
letters  still  came.  He  had  not  deserted  her,  for  in  each 
letter  there  was  some  allusion  to  his  coming  back.  Conld 
it  be  that  he  loved  her  less  f  Good  Heavens  I  Death 
itself  would  be  better  than  that  I 

If  he  loved  her  as  he  had  done  one  year  ago,  could  he 
have  remained  all  this  time  away  from  her?  Ah,  no 
— a  thousand  times  no.  He  could  not  bear  her  out  of  his 
presence  then.  If  she  were  away  from  him  only  a  few 
minutes  he  would  cry  out  for  her,  and  she  would  hasten 
back  to  him  with  a  sweet  smile  and  loving  words. 

Now  he  had  been  long  months  absent.  She  liad  writ- 
ten to  ask  him  to  come  back  ;  she  had  written  to  ask  him 
if  she  might  join  him,  and  the  answers  had  always  been 
"  No."  She  had  written  to  ask  him  what  was  the  busi- 
ness that  detained  him  there,  and  his  answer  was  always 
that  it  was  useless  for  him  to  attempt  to  ezplaiu,  that  he 


"  THE  BELLE   OF   LTNK.  Sid 

Xfould  tell  her  all  abont  it  when  he  came  home.  She 
could  bear  anything,  she  said  to  herself,  if  only  he  had 
not  learned  to  love  her  less.  His  love  had  been  her  sun- 
shine, her  life,  her  world  ;  she  had  given  up  everything 
for  it ;  she  had  left  home,  father,  mother,  all,  for  him. 
Sinoe  she  had  known  him  she  had  lived  only  for  him ; 
without  him  the  sun  had  no  brightness,  the  skies  no  liglit, 
the  flowers  no  sweetness,  the  birds  no  song;  witliout  him 
the  world  held  no  sweetness,  no  brightness,  no  happiness 
—  it  was  a  cold,  horrible  blank,  and  to-day  it  pressed 
upon  her,  it  drove  her  desperate,  almost  mad  ;  and  as  she 
stood  there  on  the  banks  of  Allan  "Water,  in  the  whole 
wide  world  there  was  no  heart  so  sad  or  so  desolate. 
She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  wide,  deep  waters. 

"Oh,  my  love !  my  love !  come  back  to  me !  "  she 
cried  ;  "  come  back  to  me !  My  life  is  weary  —  I  am 
tired  of  waiting  for  you  and  longing  for  you !  Oh,  love, 
come  back ! " 

But  the  wind  wailed  through  the  bare  boughs,  and  the 
waters  washed  wearily  on  the  bank.  INTo  voice  answered 
her,  no  lover  came  with  loving  words  and  warm  caresses, 
BO  hand  clasped  hers,  no  lips  touched  hers.  Chill,  dreary 
•ilence — blank,  hopeless  desolation.  She  wrung  her  hands 
in  silent,  hopeless  despair.  If  she  could  have  crossed  the 
water,  if  she  could  have  gone  home  and  wept  out  her 
sorrow  on  her  mother's  breast,  if  she  could  have  cried 
out  and  prayed  to  her  father  to  draw  back  his  curse,  for 
it  was  weighing  her  down,  it  would  have  been  some 
relief  to  her. 

If  she  could  have  spoken  to  any  one  about  it,  if  she 
could  even  have  heard  what  other  people  said  about  his 
absence,  it  would  have  been  easier  to  bear ;  but  the  chill, 
cold  silence  seemed  to  be  fixed  round  her  like  a  band  of 
iron,  and  she  could  not  break  it. 

Her  first  thought  every  morning  had  been,  "  Perhaps 
he  may  come  back  to-day ; "  her  last  thought  every  night 
was,  "  News  of  him  may  come  in  the  morning." 

At  first  his  absence  bad  been  a  nine  days'  wonder; 
people  had  been  interested  and  curious.  The  rector  of 
Lynn  and  the  principal  of  the  college  had  called  ;  the 
coriut's  old  pupils,  the  friends  and  parents  of  his  pupils 


220  THK  BBLLS   OF  LTNK. 

had  called ;  many  kindly  inquiries  had  been  made,  much 
interest  had  been  felt  in  the  beautiful  young  wife  who 
was  BO  lonely. 

But  she  never  allowed  one  shadow  of  blame  to  fall 
upon  him.  She  answered  all  inquiries  with  a  smile  ;  she 
spoke  always  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had  no  cause  for 
unjust  thoughts,  one  whose  heart  was  at  rest.  She  never 
allowed  herself  to  be  seen  with  a  shadow  on  her  face, 
though  she  grew  thin  and  pale,  and  an  expression  of 
weariness  had  crept  into  the  eyes  which  had  once  been  so 
full  of  love.  Still,  she  spoke  brightly  and  cheerfully,  and 
not  one  soul  in  all  Lynn  knew  of  the  bitterness  of  her 
pain  —  not  one. 

But  of  late  the  inquiries  had  ceased ;  people  asked  no 
longer  when  her  husband  was  coming  back,  and  why  he 
had  been  so  long  away.  It  had  been  a  nine  days'  wonder 
— now  it  became  an  accepted  fact. 

The  young  French  teacher  had  gone  to  France,  and 
was  staying  there  for  some  time,  and  his  beautiful  wife, 
the  Belle  of  Lynn,  was  living  alone  with  her  little  maid- 
servant at  the  cottage ;  the  miller  still  refused  to  hear  his 
daughter's  name  mentioned. 

There  was  much  kindly  sympathy  expressed  for  her, 
as  her  sweet  face  grew  paler  and  her  eyes  lost  their 
bright  light;  but  no  one  ever  dared  to  utter,  before  her, 
one  word  of  surprise  at  her  husband's  long  absence. 

So  she  had  borne  her  pain  and  her  desolation  until  she 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  seeking  the  spot  she  loved 
best,  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  she  cried  out  to  earth 
and  heaven  for  pity  and  for  help ;  but  none  came.  The 
afternoon  was  nearly  over  when  she  went  back  to  the 
cottage. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  entered  the  little 
parlor  —  "I  wish  I  could  drug  myself  to  sleep,  and  not 
wake  up  until  he  is  here." 

It  was  almost  dark  then.  Something  on  the  table, 
white  and  shining,  drew  her  attention.  Was  it  a  letter 
from  him  ? 

Her  heart  beat  and  her  hands  trembled.  As  she  raised 
it,  the  chill  of  desolation  seemed  almost  to  stop  the  verjr 
coxrent  of  her  Jife^ 


THE  BELLE   OP  LTHH.  221 

It  was  not  from  him  ;  it  was  simply  a  note  in  an  en- 
velope, with  a  copy  of  the  "  Times  "  newspaper.  She 
opened  it  eagerly.  Her  heart  and  her  instinct  told  her 
it  was  about  him — it  must  be  about  him. 

Eagerly,  with  trembling  fingers,  she  opened  the  note. 
It  was  from  the  principal  of  the  college,  saying  with 
what  surprise  and  delight  he  had  read  the  inclosed  para- 
graph in  the  "  Times,"  and  how  earnestly  he  hoped  it 
was  true ;  but  as  there  was  no  mention  oi  dates,  he  did 
not  know  whether  it  had  just  happened,  or  whether  she 
had  known  it  for  some  little  time.  In  any  case,  he  had 
sent  her  the  paper,  and  should  be  pleased  to  hear  more 
details  from  her. 

What  could  it  mean  ?  —  what  could  it  be  ?  Something 
about  her  husband,  she  was  sure  —  her  heart  told  her  so. 
Was  it  good — was  it  news  of  him  ?  Yet  how  could  news 
of  him  get  into  the  "  Times  ?  " 

She  took  the  paper  which  held  such  all-important 
news  for  her,  and  went  to  the  window  with  it,  but  the 
shades  of  night  had  deepened  ;  her  heart  was  beating  so 
quickly,  there  was  a  mist  before  her  eyes  that  dimmed 
them.  She  could  not  see.  She  cried  out  in  an  agony 
of  impatience.     And  the  little  maid  came  running  in. 

"  I  want  a  light,  Jean,"  she  cried,  quickly.  "  A  light 
— I  cannot  see." 

The  girl  looked  half  frightened  at  the  white  face  and 
the  wild,  burning  eyes. 

"  Oh,  make  haste  — make  haste,"  she  wailed.  "  It  ia 
something  about  him,  and  I  cannot  see." 

When  the  lamp  was  lighted  it  was  not  much  better,  for 
the  dim  mist  of  tears  filled  her  eyee,  and  she  could  not 
aee. 


THS   BELLE   OF    LYNN. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

At  last  she  found  it,  not  amongst  the  leading  articles 
or  the  important  announcements  told  in  capital  letters  — 
not  in  the  records  of  the  different  courts,  or  the  pages 
devoted  to  the  chronicles  of  Parliament  —  it  was  a  small 
paragraph  wliich  drew  attention  to  an  act  of  kindness 
and  justice  on  the  part  of  the  Emperor  i^apoleon  which 
merited  all  praise.  In  few  brief  words  it  told  the  history 
of  the  De  Soldanas,  of  the  unjust  confiscation,  of  the 
poverty  and  cruel  exile  of  the  head  of  the  house,  of  his 
exile  and  death  in  England,  of  his  son's  life  spent  in 
exile,  and  of  his  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  a  house  as 
noble  as  his  own  and  quite  as  unfortunate,  of  his  death 
in  the  midst  of  poverty  and  privation. 

It  told  of  the  young  son,  Leon  Comte  de  Soldana,  bom 
and  reared  in  exile ;  and  then  —  the  words  seemed  to  rise 
up  like  flames  before  her  —  then  it  told  how  the  friends 
of  the  De  Soldanas  had  had  a  petition  before  the  emper- 
or, begging  him  to  do  an  act  of  justice  which  would  add 
to  the  splendor  of  his  fame  —  to  restore  to  the  Soldanas 
their  estates,  their  wealth,  honor,  and  dignities  ;  and  the 
emperor,  greatly  to  his  honor  and  praise,  had  acceded. 
It  told  how  the  young  heir  had  been  living  in  poverty  in 
England,  gaining  his  living  by  teaching  French  at  St. 
Edward's  Grammar  School,  in  the  old-fashioned  town  of 
Lynn — how  he  returned  to  France,  and,  with  his  mother, 
Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Soldana,  had  taker^  possession  of 
his  estates ;  of  the  royal  welcome  accorded  to  him.  and 
concluded  by  saying  that  no  one  of  the  many  acts  of 
clemency  exercised  by  the  emperor  redounded  so  much 
to  his  honor  as  this. 

Slie  read  it  at  first  with  breathless  haste,  with  faint  low 
cries  of  surprise  and  emotion,  with  wonder  so  gnat  that 
it  was  absolute  pain ;  then  with  one  half  the  sense  of 
what  she  had  read  in  her  mind  she  went  through  it  again 
and  again,  slowly,  carefully,  every  word  seeming  to  bum 


THB  BELLE   OF  LTNK.  223 

itself  on  her  brain.  Then  the  paper  fell  from  her  hand, 
and  she  sat  still.  How  long,  she  knew  not.  It  was  as 
though  life  had  suddenly  failed  her. 

Slowly  her  thoughts  died  one  by  one ;  she  could  feel 
them  going ;  one  by  one  they  seemed  to  fold  themselves 
np  and  die  away.  There  was  a  time  during  which  she 
had  no  consciousness;  she  lived  and  breathed,  but  the 
soul  within  her  seemed  dead.  She  did  not  think,  or 
suffer,  or  realize.  Then,  slowly  as  they  had  died,  her 
thoughts  came  back.  Slowly  as  all  emotion  had  faded 
from  her,  it  came  back,  until  the  full  terror  of  the  posi- 
tion lay  plainly  before  her  eyes. 

This,  then,  was  what  had  kept  him,  this  was  why  he 
had  not  cared  to  return  to  her,  this  was  the  business  that 
had  kept  him  away  from  her  so  long.  She  had  pictured 
him  overworked,  overtired,  always  busy,  always  occupied, 
perhaps  longing  to  be  back  with  her,  yet  unable  to 
return,  while  the  reality  was  that  he  had  been  living  in 
the  midst  of  luxury  and  splendor,  a  favorite  at  court,  a 
leader  of  brilliant  society,  while  she  had  been  waiting  and 
watching  for  him  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water. 

"  Oil,  Heaven  be  pitiful !  "  was  the  cry  that  rose  from 
her  lips ;  "  oh,  Heaven  be  pitiful !  " 

This  was  what  had  kept  him  away,  not  business,  not 
work,  not  the  inability  to  return  which  she  had  thought 
might  arise  from  one  cause  or  another,  but  this,  that  he 
had  regained  his  lost  fortune,  and  had  no  wish  to  tell  her. 
She  saw  now  how  completely  she  was  outside  this  new 
life  of  his. 

He  had  kept  her  in  profound  ignorance  of  it  all,  per- 
haps even  he  never  intended  her  to  know.  She  would 
never  have  known  but  for  the  "  Times  "  newspaper,  and 
then  she  could  not  bear  the  pain  of  those  thoughts.  It 
might  be  better  than  she  feared.  It  was  just  possible 
that  he  had  kept  all  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on 
from  her,  lest  she  should  suffer  from  anxiety  or  sus- 
pense; he  had  always  been  so  considerate  in  shielding 
her  from  trouble  and  pain.  It  might  be  that  he  intend- 
ed to  return  and  tell  her  all  about  it  when  there  was  no 
longer  any  doubt. 

She  tried  to  comfort  herself  with  these  hopes,  but  they 


834  THE  BELLE  OF  LTNK. 

broke  down  suddenly,  she  could  find  no  comfort  in  them ; 
there  was  nothing  before  her  but  black,  bitter  despair. 

"  Oh,  love,  how  could  you  do  this  cruel  deed  to  me  ? " 
she  cried.  "  Oh,  love,  how  could  you  so  far  forget  me — 
keep  our  interests  so  far  apart!  Oh,  love,  had  I  been 
rich  and  you  poor  I  would  have  flown  to  you !  Love, 
had  the  fortune  been  mine,  I  should  have  gone  to  you 
first  and  laid  it  at  your  feet  —  I  should  not  have  enjoyed 
it  and  left  you  desolate !  " 

She  tried  to  comfort  herself  by  remembering  how 
much  he  had  loved  her,  how  much  he  had  worshipped 
her,  how  eagerly  he  had  tried  to  win  her,  how  he  had 
taken  her  from  her  parents  and  home,  how  happy  they 
had  been  together,  how  he  loved  her;  even  when  they 
parted,  he  had  kissed  her  as  though  he  could  not  let 
her  go. 

Surely  she  was  needlessly  alanued :  no  man's  love  died 
8o  suddenly  as  that ;  above  all,  not  love  like  Leon's,  that 
had  been  so  tender  and  true.  Surely  there  was  no  need 
for  her  great  fears ;  she  need  not  tremble  and  shudder  as 
though  the  cold  winds  were  passing  over  her,  no  need  for 
her  heart  to  break,  no  need  for  those  terrible  doubts. 

He  had  loved  her  most  dearly,  he  would  so  love  her 
still ;  no  need  for  the  bitter,  passionate  sobs  that  rose  to 
her  lips  and  died  there  ;  no  need  that  she  should  cry  out 
that  he  was  her  lover  and  her  husband,  but  that  he  had 
left  her,  he  had  forgotten  her.  Still,  the  time  must  come 
when  he  must  remember  her;  she  was  his  wife;  she 
must  take  her  own  part  in  his  life ;  he  could  not  marry 
her  and  leave  her,  no  need  to  fear. 

Then  the  dark  clouds  would  infold  her,  and  she  would 
«ry  out  again  that  he  had  gone  from  her  and  that  she  was 
nothing  in  his  life. 

"  A  great  favorite  at  court."  Her  eye  caught  those 
words.  What  did  it  mean  ?  That  her  husband  had  his 
place  in  the  most  brilliant  circle  in  Europe,  had  his  place 
amongst  princes  and  peers,  amongst  the  most  noble,  the 
most  wealthy,  the  most  exclusive,  ah,  and  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  the  land. 

The  most  beautiful  —  that  would  mean  that  fair,  high- 
bom  women  surround  him,  and  who  could  see  him  with- 


THI   BSLLB   Of   LTtflT.  ^96 

out  admiring  and  loving  him?  Here  at  Lynn  —  in  the 
qnaint,  old-fashioned  town  of  Lynn  —  all  the  women 
admired  him,  and  what  would  they  do  in  that  brilliant, 
far-off  Paris. 

A  new  pain,  a  new,  bewildering  sensation  of  jealousy 
shot  through  her  heart  like  a  flame.  She  clasped  her 
hands. 

"  Not  that,"  she  cried,  "  anything  but  that ;  oh,  Heaven 
be  pitiful,  I  could  not  bear  that." 

Let  him  enjoy  his  newly  found  fortunes  if  he  would, 
without  her ;  let  him  forget,  if  he  must,  her  claims  upon 
him,  and  her  right  to  share  his  life,  but  that  he  should 
learn  to  care  for  another — not  that. 

And  as  she  sat  alone,  desolate  and  sad  beyond  all  words 
to  tell,  all  kinds  of  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind  ,• 
what  would  her  father  say  now  when  he  heard  that  the 
husband  he  had  scorned  for  her  was  one  of  the  wealthiest 
men  in  France  ?  What  would  he  say  when  he  knew  that 
she  would  share  her  husband's  wealth  and  title,  as  she 
must  share  them  some  day ;  he  could  not  stay  from  her 
forever. 

What  would  the  people  say,  the  sturdy  neighbors  and 
friends  who  had  been  so  interested  in  her  love-story; 
how  astonished  and  surprised  they  would  feel.  So  few 
people  knew  anything  of  his  birth  and  position ;  he  had 
simply  been  the  young  French  teacher  to  them,  a  very 
handsome  and  fascinating  man ;  but  who  would  dream 
that  he  was  Lord  of  Soldana  ?  And  then,  as  she  sits  in  a 
quiet  evening  silence  trying  to  form  excuses  for  him,  try- 
ing to  weave  faint  hopes  for  herself,  she  hears  quite  sud- 
denly the  sound  of  a  carriage  on  the  high-road.  The 
night  is  so  still  she  cannot  mistake  the  sound.  Only  one 
person  could  be  coming  to  the  cottage,  and  that  would  be 
her  husband.  At  first  she  tried  to  rise,  with  a  faint  pas- 
sionate cry  of  surprise,  but  she  found  herself  quite  unable 
to  move ;  her  limbs  trembled,  her  nerves  failed ;  she 
could  not  move  or  stir. 

It  must  be  he,  for  the  carriage  comes  nearer  and 
nearer. 

She  cries  out  again  and  again  in  her  passion  of  excite- 
ment when  she  hears  it  stop  at  the  gate.     It  must  be 


2^  THE  BELLB  OF   LYNN. 

Leon.  Her  white  lips  open  to  call  out  his  name,  but  the 
Bouud  dies  on  them,  and  she  thinks  surelj  if  this  passion^ 
ate,  quick  beating  of  her  heart  does  not  cease,  she  shall 
fall  on  her  face  dead. 

The  carriage  has  stopped.  To  her  strained  ears  every 
sound  is  audible  —  the  opening  of  the  carriage  door,  the 
unlatching  of  the  garden  gate,  the  footsteps  up  the  gar- 
den path. 

But  surely  they  are  not  his  steps.  His  steps  —  how 
often  she  had  listened  to  them — were  quick,  eager,  hur- 
ried ;  these  were  slow.  He  had  always  opened  the  little 
door  of  the  porch  and  come  straight  to  her.  Whoever 
this  was  stood  for  some  minutes  outside  the  porch,  as 
though  looking  around. 

Then  came  a  rap  that  seemed  to  Lima  in  her  excited 
•tate  as  thongh  it  beat  upon  her  very  heart.  She  heard 
the  door  open,  and  the  little  maid  answer  some  questions 
addressed  to  her.  She  heard,  as  one  in  a  dream,  steps 
leading  to  the  parlor  door.  And  then  it  was  opened. 
The  little  maid  stood  there  for  one  minute  with  a  bewil- 
dered face. 

Then  a  tall,  statuesque-looking  lady,  richly  dressed, 
with  the  dignity  of  an  empress,  came  in  at  the  door. 
She  stood  still  on  the  threshold  for  some  moments,  look- 
ing eagerly  at  the  beautiful,  colorless  face. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  disturbed  you,"  she  said.  "  I 
had  hoped  to  have  reached  Lynn  by  an  earlier  train." 

"Who  are  you?"  The  white  lips  seemed  rather  to 
shape  than  to  utter  the  words. 

The  lady  smiled,  but  it  was  not  altogether  a  pleasant 
smile,  as  she  answered  : 

"  I  am  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Soldana,  and  I  have 
come  from  France  to  see  you." 


THE  BELLE  OF  LTNM.  227 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Fox  some  few  seconds  the  picturesque,  dignified  lady 
and  the  beautiful,  worn-looking  girl  stood  looking  at 
each  other  in  perfect  silence  ;  then  naadame  spoke : 

"  You  will  be  surprised  to  see  me,"  she  said ;  "  I  am 
afraid,  indeed,  that  I  have  startled  you,  but  the  business 
on  which  I  wish  to  see  you  is  so  important  that  I  pre- 
ferred to  come  myself." 

The  beautiful  young  face,  with  its  wearied  expression, 
in  its  frame  of  golden  hair,  was  raised  to  hers,  the  beauti- 
ful lips  parted  with  a  half  smile  of  welcome,  half  sigh  of 
dismay. 

"  Madame  de  Soldana,"  she  said,  gently,  and  then 
quite  suddenly  she  remembered  Leon's  description  of  his 
mother. 

"  The  poorest  and  the  proudest  woman  in  Europe." 
Poor  no  longer,  but  proud,  ah,  yes,  every  curve  of*  the 
statuesque  figure,  every  line  on  the  haughty  face  told 
that.  His  mother — Leon's  mother !  Leon's  mother  come 
to  see  her  on  important  business!  Where,  then,  in 
Heaven's  name,  was  he  ?  Why  should  his  mother  come 
and  not  he  ?  There  must  be  something  wrong,  and  be- 
fore that  proud  patrician  lady,  Lima  felt  her  courage 
fail,  her  fair  face  grew  colorless,  and  her  lips  quivered 
with  pain. 

"  You  are  my  husband's  mother,"  she  said,  slowly. 

A  light  gleam  in  madame's  dark  eyes. 

"  I  am  the  mother  of  the  Count  de  Soldana,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"  And  I,"  cried  Lima,  hurriedly,  "  I  am  his  wife.  I 
remember  that  long  ago  he  spoke  to  me  of  you.  I  am 
his  wife,  madame,  but  where  is  he,  why  is  he  not  here  ? 
my  very  heart  is  weary  of  waiting  for  him ;  why  is  he 
not  here  ? " 

"  I  have  much  to  tell  you,"  said  madame.  "  I  have 
travelled  all  these  weary  miles  in  order  to  do  so— bat  I 


THE   BBLLS   OF  LYlSTir. 

will  defer  what  I  have  to  say  until  I  have  taten  some 
refreshment.  I  dismissed  the  carriage,  thinking  it  prob- 
able that  I  could  remain  here  for  the  night ;  I  leave  for 
Paris  to-morrow  morning," 

Lima  rang  for  the  maid  whose  face  of  wonder  and 
dismay  at  the  stately  presence  of  madame  would  have 
amused  her  at  another  time  ;  now  she  could  only  ask 
herself  the  one  question,  why  waa  madame  here?  Where 
was  her  husband,  and  why  was  he  not  here  ? 

In  a  few  minutes  the  little  table  whereat  Leon  had  sat 
iio  often  was  spread,  and  madame,  with  all  the  grace  and 
•iignity  of  an  empress,  was  seated  at  tea.  A  simple  little 
tea,  but  very  acceptable  after  that  long  journey,  for  ma- 
'lame  had  not  halted  by  the  way :  she  had  been  too  in- 
tent on  her  business.  She  drank  her  tea  in  silence ;  the 
wistful  appeal  in  those  blue  eyes  did  not  touch  her  in  the 
least.  She  had  come  here  to  carry  out  certain  measures, 
and  it  must  be  done.  She  sat  in  silence — her  own  in- 
stinct told  her  that,  with  such  tragic  news,  idle  or  com- 
monplace consolation  would  be  cruelty. 

But  Lima  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  her.  She  waa 
like  a  bird  fascinated  by  the  eyes  of  a  snake.  She  did 
not  wish  to  go  near  madame,  but  she  could  not  avoid  it ; 
she  seemed  drawn  there.  She  hovered  round  the  stately 
figure,  and  round  the  little  table,  her  beautiful  eyes  ask- 
ing questions  that  any  other  woman  less  hard  of  heart 
must  have  answered ;  at  last  she  said,  gently,  and  in  a 
voice  quite  unlike  her  own : 

"  Madame,  where  is  my  husband,  Leon  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Count  is  in  Paris,"  answered  Mme.  de 
Soldana.  She  knew  that  she  must  not  once  allow  thii 
word  husband,  or  admit  the  title. 

"  And  why,"  said  Lima,  "  why  is  he  not  here  1 " 

"  That  is  what  I  have  come  to  tell  yon,"  said  madame. 
"It  is  an  unpleasant  business,  and  I  thought  I  could 
manage  it  better  than  my  son." 

Yet  it  was  not  easy  to  begin.  She  remembered  Leon's 
words,  that  it  seemed  to  him  she  had  started  out  with 
sword  in  hand  to  slay ;  and,  though  she  was  by  no  means 
of  a  tender  or  sympathetic  nature,  she  did  not  like  the 
task  before  her ;  yet,  it  must  be  gone  through,  for  the 


THE   BELLE    OF   LYNN.  229 

honor  of  the  Soldanas.  It  was  not  easy  to  begin.  She 
rose  from  her  chair ;  she  walked  up  and  down  the  little 
room  stopping  at  times  to  think  if  it  were  possible  that 
her  son,  who  seemed  so  thoroughly  at  home  and  at  ease 
in  the  magnificent  rooms  of  his  chateau,  if  he  could  ever 
have  been  happy  here,  in  this  little,  homely  house, 
pretty  enough,  but  only  a  homely  little  cottage  after  all. 
Could  he  ever  have  felt  at  his  ease  here  ? 

How  out  of  place  that  princely  face  and  figure  must 
have  been  here;  and  then  she  remembered  her  son's 
words  —  that  Lima  had  cheered  his  loneliness  and  bright- 
ened his  exile.  How  lonely  he  must  have  been  she  could 
tell  better  now  she  had  seen  the  pretty  but  isolated  little 
home,  and  her  heart  softened  just  a  little  to  the  girl  who 
had  helped  him  to  bear  his  exile;  not  to  any  great  ex- 
tent —  every  thing  must  give  way  to  the  honor  of  the 
Soldanas.  And  as  madame  paced  restlessly  up  and  down 
the  room,  she  remembered  a  story  told  of  one  of  her 
ancestors,  the  Marquis  de  Faille — a  story  that  perhaps 
helped  the  Revolution  more  than  any  other  told  in 
France. 

He  was  late  in  joining  a  fete  given  at  a  neighboring 
chateau,  and  he  gave  orders  that  his  coachman  should 
drive  at  a  hard  pace  and  stop  for  nothing  on  the  way. 
Nothing !  He  was  hurried  and  anxious  to  be  there. 
They  had  to  drive  through  the  streets  of  the  village,  all 
of  which  belonged  to  him. 

It  was  after  school-hours,  and  the  village  children  were 
all  playing  in  the  streets.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  with  an 
impatient  oath,  the  marquis  had  seen  the  carriage  stop- 
ped because  a  child  was  in  the  way ;  once,  twice,  thrice 
he  cried  out  to  his  coachman  not  to  stop  again,  but,  if 
the  little  demons  came  in  the  way  to  ride  over  them. 

And  the  next  that  came  in  the  way,  a  fair-haired  little 
girl,  was  ridden  down,  ridden  over,  not  killed,  but  crusli- 
ed  and  mangled,  so  there  could  be  no  more  youth  and  no 
more  beauty  for  her.  Monsieur  le  Marquis  cared  nothing 
for  the  pain  of  the  child,  nothing  for  the  anguish  of  the 
parents,  nothing  for  the  hatred  and  execrations  of  the 
crowd,  nothing  for  the  fact  that  when  he  reached  the 
ehateau  the  blood  of  th«  child  was  still  wet  on  his  car* 


230  THE   BXLLB   OF   LYinr. 

riage-wheels ;  lie  cared  only  that  he  had  not  lost  much  of 
the  fete. 

That  was  her  ancestor,  for  she  belonged  to  the  once 
powerful  family  of  the  De  Failles,  and  their  instincts 
and  traditions  were  all  hereditary ;  she  had  inherited 
them  with  her  name. 

Her  ancestor,  the  handsome  Marquis  de  Faille,  who 
was  afterward  beheaded  in  the  midst  of  a  shrieking 
crowd,  had  ridden  over  a  child  who  barred  his  way. 
8he  in  her  turn  had  to  plunge  a  sharp  sword  in  the  heart 
of  this  girl  whose  only  fault  was  that  she  had  loved  her 
son.  She  would  not  shrink  from  the  task,  but  all  the 
same  she  was  a  woman,  and  her  hand  unskilled  in  mur- 
der. 

She  wished  that  her  son  had  never  used  those  words. 
She  could  see  herself  so  plainly  sword  in  hand.  She 
looked  at  the  beautiful  white  neck,  and  shuddered  as  she 
thought  how  she  must  plunge  the  sword  in. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Lima,  "  that  you  will  be  tired, 
madame.     Will  you  not  sit  down  ?  " 

The  lovely,  weary  face,  and  the  gentle  voice,  smote 
her.  Madame  had  never  dreamed  that  her  task  would 
be  so  difl&cult. 

She  stood  just  before  Madame  la  Comtesse,  her  hands 
clasped,  her  blue  eyes  full  of  wistful  questions. 

''  Madame  de  Soldana,"  she  said,  "  will  you  tell  me 
something  of  Leon?  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen 
him ;  he  went  away  saying  that  he  should  only  be  absent 
for  a  few  days,  and  it  is  almost  a  year  since  he  left  me. 
I  have  nearly  died  of  pain  and  desolation  ;  I  long  to  see 
him;  my  heart  aches  for  him ;  my  eyes  are  weary  with 
watching  for  him ;  my  whole  soul  is  waiting  for  him. 
Madame,  where  is  he? 

It  was  not  pleasant ;  not  all  the  courage,  the  instinct 
of  the  De  Failles,  could  make  it  so. 

She  looked  steadily  at  the  girl's  face  for  a  few  seconds 
as  though  she  would  see  how  much  it  was  possible  for 
her  to  bear ;  with  what  abruptness  she  could  tell  the 
truth;  how  much  she  must  spare  her,  how  much  she 
could  inflict  upon  her  without  injury.  And  as  she  looked 
into  the  face  her  heart  softened  still  more.    It  was  89 


THE  BELLE   OP  LTNK,  231 

lovely,  yet  so  delicate  and  fragile ;  she  was  snrpriSed,  too, 
at  its  dainty  refinement.  Tliis  ijirl  before  her  was  quite 
as  patrician  in  appearance  as  Princess  Helene.  If  possi- 
ble, she  was  more  so,  owing  to  the  delicacy  of  her  color- 
ing, and  the  sheen  of  her  golden  hair.  Madame  had 
expected  in  a  miller's  daughter  something  of  the  half- 
vulgar,  half-buxom  type.  This  slender  girl,  with  her 
dainty,  sweet  loveliness,  was  not  at  all  what  she  expected 
to  see.  Still,  she  must  slay  and  spare  not,  for  the  honor 
of  the  Soldanas  was  at  stake. 

"  "Will  you  tell  me,  madame,  something  about  Leon  ? 
Is  he  well?  Is  he  happy?  Sometimes,  for  nights  to- 
gether, I  have  not  slept,  and  for  days  together  I  have 
not  rested.     I  am  thinking  always  of  him." 

Now  was  the  time  to  raise  her  hand  and  strike  —  now 
to  plunge  the  sharp  sword  through  the  white  gentle  breast 
into  the  loving  heart  —  now  to  strike  with  true  aim  and 
deadly  intent. 

Yet  she  paused.  The  lovely  blue  eyes  were  so  full  of 
pleading,  the  fair  face  so  wistful,  the  voice  so  sweet  that 
repeated — 

"  Tell  me  something  of  Leon,  madame,  if  it  only  be 
that  he  is  well  and  happy." 

"  Strike  and  spare  not  —  slay,  not  save !  "  were  the 
words  that  rose  to  madame's  mind,  and  then,  bold  enough 
she  plunged  the  sharp  sword  in  the  white  breast  up  to 
the  hilt. 

"  It  is  of  Leon,  my  son,  that  I  have  come  to  speak  to 
jou,"  said  madame.  "  I  am  sorry  to  be  what  you  will 
think  the  bearer  of  evil  news  to  you ;  but  duty  must  be 
done,  be  it  disagreeable  as  it  may." 

She  saw  the  life  die,  as  it  were,  from  the  fair,  sad  face. 

"  I  have  to  tell  you,"  continued  madame,  "  that  your 
marriage  with  my  son  is  illegal  and  invalid,  a  perfectly 
worthless  ceremony  ;  and  that  here  in  England,  owing  to 
the  laxity  of  the  law,  you  may  call  yourself  his  wife,  yet 
in  France,  and  by  the  law  of  France,  you  are  not  his  wife 
at  all." 

The  sword  was  driven  in  up  to  the  hilt,  and  she  watch- 
ed the  girl's  face  narrowly,  to  see  if  she  would  die  under 
the  shock  of  her  words. 


233  THE  BBLLB   OF   LYNK. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

"  I  DO  not  understand,"  said  Lima,  slowly.  "  I  am 
Leon's  wife.  We  were  married  at  the  church  at  Haslitig- 
dene,  and  he,  Leon,  said  that  every  formality  had  been 
complied  with.  I — I  remember  all  the  trouble  he  took 
over  it,  how  particular  he  was  about  the  number  of  days' 
notice,  and  living  in  the  right  parish.  Oh,  madame,  you 
—  you  mistake ;  our  marriage  is  legal  enough." 

"  According  to  English  law,"  said  maaame,  calmly, 
"  but  not  in  France.  I  can  explain  it  to  you  in  few 
words.  In  France  the  marriage-law  favors  the  authority 
of  parents,  prevents  ill-assorted  marriages,  for  it  says  that 
no  minor  can  contract  a  marriage  without  the  formal  con- 
sent and  sanction  of  parents  or  guardians,  and  that  if  he 
does  contract  such  a  marriage,  it  is  null  and  void,  and 
can  be  set  aside  at  the  suit  of  parents  or  guardians.  That 
is  what  my  son  has  done,"  continued  madame,  holding 
the  sword  with  firm  clasp.  "  He  is  under  age  ;  he  has 
married  without  my  consent  or  sanction.  His  marriage 
is,  consequently,  null  and  void,  against  the  law,  and 
must  be  put  aside." 

The  face  of  the  girl  who  listened  to  these  terrible 
words  had  grown  perfectly  white,  and  a  great,  nameless 
dread  came  into  her  blue  eyes;  not  that  she  feared.  She 
knew  that  she  was  married,  and  this  strange,  proud, 
foreign  lady  knew  nothing  of  the  marriairelaw3  of  dear 
old  England. 

Had  it  been  less  terrible,  she  would  have  laughed. 
Most  certainly  she  was  Leon's  wife;  if  not,  what  was 
she  ?  She  remembered  the  solemn  and  beautiful  words 
of  the  marriage-service : 

"  Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man 
put  asunder."  Assuredly  they  were  joined  together  in 
the  house  of  God,  and  in  the  presence  of  Heaven.  What 
could  any  little   insignificant  human   law  matter?    In 


THE   BELLE   OP   LTHW.  233 

spite  of  her  pain,  she  almost  smiled  as  she  looked  in 
madame's  face. 

"  That  law  1  No  law  can  touch  me,"  she  said,  gently. 
"  I  am  married  to  Leon  ;  neither  English,  French,  or  any 
other  law  can  set  aside  this  great  law  of  God.  I  am  mar- 
ried to  Leon  ;  nothing  can  unmarry  me  or  take  me  from 
him." 

"  Your  marriage  was  against  the  law  of  the  land,  there- 
fore in  the  eyes  of  the  law  it  is  no  marriage." 

"  It  is  a  marriage  complete,  valid  and  formal  before 
Heaven  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Heaven  is  not  France,"  said  madame,  "  nor  is  France 
Heaven,  and  as  my  son  has  to  live  in  France  he  must 
comply  with  its  laws." 

"  But,  madame,  I  am  his  wife,"  she  repeated.  "  He 
chose  me  out  of  the  whole  wide  world ;  he  loved  me,  he 
wooed  me,  and  my  father  was  not  willing,  he  could  not 
endure  the  thought  of  the  marriage,  and  I — oh,  madame, 
my  heart  was  nearly  broken  —  and  Leon  persuaded  me  to 
run  away  with  him  ;  we  could  not  live  apart  any  longer; 
and  now  you  say  it  is  no  marriage ;  it  must  be :  he  meant 
it,  I  meant  it.  Heaven  saw  it.  Oh,  Leon,  Leon,"  she 
cried,  wildly,  "  where  are  you,  why  do  you  not  come  to 
help  me!  Madame,  let  my  husband  come,  he  will  tell 
you  !  "  Then  with  a  cry  of  passionate  pain,  she  added : 
"  Does  he  know — does  Leon  know  that  you  have  come  to 
tell  me  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  madame,  and  the  girl  for  a  few  min- 
utes seemed  to  be  beside  herself  with  grief. 

"  He  knew !  "  she  cried.  "  He  knew  that  you  were 
coming  to  tell  me  this  —  and  did  not  come  with  you,  did 
not  come  to  tell  you  that,  law  or  no  law,  our  marriage 
was  a  true  one  ?  " 

"  He  could  not  have  come  "with  me  to  have  said  that," 
interrupted  madame,  "  because  he  knows  that  it  would 
be  false  ;  the  law  steps  in  between  you  and  him,  and  the 
law  must  be  obeyed." 

Then  a  briglit,  hot  flush  came  into  Lima's  face,  a  flash 
of  light  into  the  lovely  blue  eyes. 

"  Madame,"  she  said,  "  I  would  not  be  rude  to  you,  I 
would  not  be  discourteous,  but  I  can  hardly  believe  that 


384  THB  BELLE   OF  LTHV. 

law  exists,  and  if  it  does  exist,  it  is  so  unjnst,  so  moii* 
strous,  that  it  is  a  blot  on  France." 

"  That  is  from  your  point  of  view,"  said  madame, 
coldly.  "  Yon  will  find  I  am  right.  As  the  French 
marriage  law  stands,  you  are  my  son's  wife  in  England, 
but  not  in  France." 

"  It  is  impossible !  "  cried  Lima. 

"  It  is  true,"  repeated  madame. 

"  Has  this  same  thing  ever  happened  to  any  one  else 
beside  me  ? "  cried  Lima. 

"  Yes,"  replied  madame,  "  It  has  happened  frequent- 
ly. Within  the  last  three  months  two  similar  marriages 
have  been  put  aside." 

"  But  is  there  no  hope,  no  help  for  any  girl  to  whom 
this  happens  ?  "   asked  Lima. 

"  There  is  one  remedy,"  she  replied.  "  If  it  should  be 
a  marriage  of  which  parents  and  guardians  approve,  and 
formal  permission  is  obtained  for  it,  the  ceremony  can  be 
repeated  in  France,  and  then  it  will  be  legal,  but  not 
without  that." 

She  looked  up  then  with  something  of  relief,  with 
Bomething  of  gladness. 

"  Oh,  madame  I  "  she  cried,  "  why  did  you  not  tell  me 
80  before  ?  I  was  growing  frightened."  She  caught  her 
breath  with  a  great,  passionate  sob.  "  I  was  afraid,"  she 
repeated.  "  My  hands  have  grown  cold,  and  my  heart 
nearly  stopped  beating.  You  can  help  us  I  You  will  — 
you  will  give  your  permission  ?  We  did  not  know,  nei 
ther  of  us  knew.  Leon  meant  me  to  be  his  wife,  he 
loved  me  so  dearly.  You  will  give  your  permission, 
and  all  will  be  well  ?  Oh,  Heaven,  how  frightened  1 
was ! " 

"  Make  no  mistake,"  cried  madame.  "  It  is  true  that 
is  the  remedy,  but  it  is  a  remedy  that  will  never  be 
applied  to  you.  I  shall  never  give  my  consent  to  my  son's 
legal  marriage  with  you,  and  without  that  consent  there 
can  be  no  marriage." 

The  next  moment  the  girl  was  kneeling  at  her  feet, 
and  never  while  life  lasted  did  madame  forget  the  agony 
^n  that  fair  young  face. 

**•  Do  not  take  Leon  from  me,"  she  prayed.    '*  Oh, 


THE  BELLE   OF   LYNIT.  235 

madame,  be  pitif nl,  be  merciful  to  me !  I  love  him !  —  he 
is  my  own !  —  do  not  take  him  from  me  I  You  are  his 
mother — I  am  his  wife.  I  cannot  lose  him.  I  love  him 
— he  loves  me.  I  have  been  his  wife  all  these  long 
months  past.  My  heart  is  knit  to  his  —  my  soul  is  one 
with  his.  I  have  no  life  apart  from  him.  Oh,  madame, 
do  not  take  him  from  me  !  " 

"  I  atn  sorry,"  said  madame,  "  but  it  must  be  done.** 

'■  It  need  not  be  done.  You  will  not  do  it — you  could 
not  be  so  cruel !  Why,  Leon  has  said  a  hundred  times 
over  that  death  should  not  part  us,  and  now  you,  his 
mother,  would  do  so." 

"  I  must,"  said  madame,  "  for  the  honor  of  the  Sol- 
danas." 

"  To  their  eternal  dishonor,  madame,  if  you  do  thia 
thing  !  I  see — I  understand — my  husband  is  not  of  age, 
and  all  power  lies  in  your  hands.  As  you  are  strong,  be 
merciful.     Do  not  separate  me  from  my  husband." 

Her  voice  quivered  with  pain,  but  there  was  no  passion 
in  her  voice.  It  was  deep,  earnest,  as  is  the  voice  of  one 
who  prays  in  the  last  extremity  of  danger. 

In  her  earnest  simplicity  she  caught  raadame's  jewelled 
hand  and  tried  to  clasp  it  in  her  own,  but  it  was  quickly 
and  coldly  withdrawn. 

"  The  marriage,  even  had  it  been  a  valid  one,  was  the 
most  unsatisfactory  one  possible,"  said  madame.  "  My 
son  has  just  regained  his  long-lost  inheritance.  I  do  not 
know  whether  he  told  you  that." 

"  No,  he  did  not  tell  me,"  replied  the  girl,  sadly. 

"  He  has  just  taken  possession  of  one  of  the  finest 
properties  in  France  —  one  of  the  oldest  titles  —  and  he 
must  marry  from  his  own  class  —  he  must  marry  some 
one  who  has  rank  and  wealth,  and  whose  connections 
would  be  useful  to  him.  A  marriage  with  a  low-bom 
English  girl  would  be  ruinous  to  him." 

"  But,  madame,"  said  Lima,  with  earnest  passion,  "  he 
will  never  give  me  up !  I  remember,  during  one  of  those 
happy  summer  evenings  Ave  spent  together  in  the  garden 
there,  he  said  to  me  :  '  I  am  the  happiest  Soldana  of  them 
all,  because,  having  lost  all,  I  have  found  you.'  He 
Falaed  me  far  above  all  the  land  and  the  g(ud  he  bM 


236  THK  BELLK   OP  LTim. 

won.  Ah,  madame,  you  do  not  know  your  son  !  He  is 
too  noble,  too  generous ;  he  will  never  set  me  aside  on 
this  weak  excuse  of  an  unjust  law." 

"  My  son  is  the  soul  of  honor ;  but  this  is  a  sacrifice 
which  honor  demands  from  him." 

"  But  to  which  he  can  never  accede  —  he  cannot  mad- 
ame," she  continued  with  quiet,  desperate  eamestnesa. 
*'  He  knows  that  we  were  married  —  he  knows  that  we 
etood  together  before  the  altar  of  Heaven — he  knows  that 
nothing  but  death  can  part  us —  " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  madame,  "  I  can ! " 

Then,  with  tears  that  would  have  moved  a  heart  of 
etone ;  with  words  that  were  so  sweet,  so  sad,  so  prayer- 
ful, they  must  have  won  one  less  cold  than  the  Countess 
of  Soldana,  she  prayed  to  her  for  pity,  for  help  ;  she 
prayed  for  more  than  life,but  madame  would  not  relent 

"  It  would  be  more  merciful,"  sobbed  the  girl,  '*  if  you 
were  to  kill  me  as  I  kneel  here  than  take  him  from  me, 
without  whom  I  cannot  live.  Oh,  madame,  take  all  the 
world,  but  leave  me  Leon,  my  husband." 

"  You  must  not  think,"  said  madame,  and  this  time 
fihe  spoke  more  gently,  for  she  knew  what  her  words  cost 
the  hapless  girl  before  her  —  "  you  must  not  think  that  I 
*m  the  only  one  interested  in  the  matter.  My  son,  too, 
sees  the  impossibility  of  such  a  marriage." 

"  Not  Leon  I "  cried  the  girl,  "  not  Leon  1  —  my  bus- 
band  1  I  will  believe  in  all  else,  but  never  that.  I  will 
believe  in  the  unjust  law;  I  will  believe  in  the  crueltv 
which  prompts  you  to  put  me  from  Leon  ;  but  I  will 
never  believe  that  Leon  wishes  to  leave  me — never  !  " 

"  Leon  wishes  to  do  all  that  is  honorable,  but  neither 
the  honor  of  his  family  nor  his  own  future  will  permit 
him  to  return  to  you.  You  must  be  generous  and  give 
him  up." 

"  I  give  up  Leon ! "  she  cried  ;  "  never,  until  the  sea 
gives  up  its  dead.  He  is  mine,  and  I  will  keep  him 
through  time  and  through  eternity  if  I  can  I 

"  Fortunately,"  said  madame,  '*  there  is  a  higher  power 
than  your  will,  and  to  that  power  you  must  yield." 


THE  BSLLK   OF  LTmi.  987 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Fak  into  the  night  the  two  ladies  sat.  The  whole  of 
the  dark,  terrible  truth  was  laid  bare  before  Lima  now. 
She  saw  plainly  what  it  would  cost  Leon  to  return  to  thu 
only  country  where  she  could  be  legitimately  called  lii."< 
wife :  she  could  understand  the  excessive  anxiety  of 
Mme.  de  Soldana  that  this  marriage  should  be  set  aside ; 
she  could  understand  that  an  alliance  with  a  powerful 
and  noble  family  would  be  advantageous  to  him ;  but  she 
would  not  believe  that  he  knew  of  his  mother's  mission, 
or  that  he  himself  wished  the  marriage  to  be  set  aside ; 
she  clung  to  him  with  perfect  faith — he  loved  her;  he 
loved  her;  he  would  never  desert  her.  She  sat  like  a 
statue  of  despair,  while  madame  talked  to  her  of  the 
glory  of  the  Soldanas ;  little  did  it  matter  to  that  aching 
heart  what  madame  talked  of  the  magnij&cent  provision 
which  should  be  made  for  her. 

The  blue  eyes,  once  so  shining  and  bright,  now  heavy 
with  tears  of  woe,  were  raised  slowly  to  the  proud  face. 

"  Madame,"  she  said,  "  I  want  no  money — I  only  want 
Leon." 

"  And  Leon,"  cried  madame,  sharply,  "  is  the  one 
thing  you  cannot  have!  You  English  call  yourselves 
generous  and  courageous  —  show  yourself  to  be  so ;  be 
brave  and  self-sacrificing,  give  him  up  freely  and  gener- 
ously, so  that  he  shall  not  suffer  pain  ;  that  is  what  a  true 
woman  would  do." 

"  A  ^rue  woman  !  Oh,  madame,  no !  What  woman 
would  give  up  a  husband  she  loves  because  there  is  some 
flaw,  or  quibble,  or  injustice,  in  the  law  of  one  land  that 
exists  in  no  other?  As  a  true  woman,  madame,  I  will 
cling  to  my  husband.  I  will  keep  to  my  faith  in  him.  I 
will  believe  in  his  vows  and  promises  to  me ! " 

"  But  you  cannot  change  the  law  "  said  madame,  in  « 
hard,  cold  voice. 


238  THV  BSZ-LB  OF  LTKH. 

She  tried  to  harden  herseli,  for  her  heart  was  touched 
by  this  great  love  for  her  son. 

"  No,  I  cannot  change  the  law,"  said  Lima,  "  but  I 
can  appeal  to  something  far  above  it.  I  can  appeal  to 
the  love  of  my  husband,  and  to  the  just  God  in  whose 
presence  those  vows  were  made." 

"  Do  you  think  it  likely,"  asked  madame,  "  that  my 
son  would  give  up  the  lands  that  have  just  fallen  to  his 
possession  —  the  wealth,  the  honors,  the  dignities,  all  the 
magnificent  future  that  lies  before  him  —  aJl  to  return  to 
exMe  and  to  you  ? " 

"  ifes,"  replied  Lima,  "  I  do  believe  it.  I  believe  that 
he  would  give  up  all  and  everything  for  me,  as  I  would 
for  him.  I  believe  it,  because  he  said  it  — and  that  he 
would  give  up  France  and  all  the  wealth  of  the  Soldanas 
for  love  of  me.  I  will  never  believe  otherwise,  madame, 
but  from  his  own  lips." 

And  madame  began  to  see  that  in  the  frail,  delicate 
girl  before  her  there  was  a  spirit  as  indomitable  as  her 
own ;  she  might  break,  but  never  bend ;  the  girl  might 
die,  but  she  would  never  yield.  It  was  more  of  a  difficult 
task  than  she  had  fancied. 

"  If  Leon  himself  tells  me  that  this  is  true,  if  with  his 
own  lips  he  tells  me  that  he  repents  his  marriage  with 
me,  then  —  then  I  am  ready  to  die,  to  yield,  but  not  until 
then,  not  until  he  tells  me." 

"  It  is  to  spare  my  son  that  most  disagreeable  task  that 
I  am  here,"  said  madame. 

"  But  why,"  cried  Lima,  "  why  must  he  be  spared, 
while  I  suffer  ?  It  is  not  just.  Why  —  why  must  all  the 
suffering  fall  on  me  ? " 

"  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  so,"  replied  madame.  "  I 
must  own  that  my  son  suffers,  and  suffers  greatly.  It  is 
to  spare  him  all  I  can  that  I  came.  It  will  be  needless 
and  useless  for  you  to  see  him.  If  you  were  to  see  him 
a  hundred  times  over,  he  could  only  tell  you  the  same 
thing.    That  is  the  law,  and  you  must  both  abide  by  it." 

"  1  shall  hear  it  only  from  his  own  lips,"  said  Lima. 
**  Leon  loved  me.  Ah,  madame,  he  loved  me  better 
than  he  loves  the  wealth  and  honor  you  estimate  so 
highly.    He  loved  me  best ;  he  would  Dever  have  dono 


THE   BBLLE    OF   LTNIT.  280 

this.  It  la  not  like  my  Leon ;  he  would  never  have  de- 
serted me  and  have  let  another  come  and  tell  me  so.  It 
is  only  from  his  own  lips  I  will  believe  it — from  no 
other's. » 

Then  madame  began  in  some  measure  to  lose  patience. 
She  had  been  prepared  to  exercise  some  kindness,  some 
patience,  but  she  was  not  prepared  for  this  persistent, 
earnest  opposition.     Her  patience  failed  her. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  that  you  will  do  nothing 
to  annoy  ray  son.  You  may  take  my  word  just  as  you 
would  his.  His  plans  are  all  formed  ;  when  this  business 
is  settled,  and  you  are  amply  provided  for,  my  son  will 
marry,  and  marry  from  his  own  class.  To  show  you 
how  idle  and  useless  all  appeal  is,  I  may  tell  you  that  he 
has  selected  a  wife,  and  the  marriage  will  take  place  on 
my  return." 

If  she  had  known  how  cruel  the  words  were,  she 
would  not  have  uttered  them;  they  seemed  literally  to 
transfix  the  girl. 

She  stood  still  for  some  few  minutes  under  the  shock 
of  them,  with  a  look  on  her  white  face  that  will  haunt 
madarae  till  she  dies  —  a  look  of  unutterable  despair. 
That  was  the  one  thing  she  had  prayed  would  not  be. 
She  could  bear  anything  on  earth  but  that^  and  as  she 
listened  the  words  seemed  to  fall  like  molten  drops  of 
lead  on  her  heart.  She  looked  like  one  suddenly  strick- 
en dead.  Even  madame  herself  was  alarmed  at  the 
ghastly  pallor  of  her  face. 

Then  those  eyes,  so  heavy  with  grief,  were  raised  to 
madame's  face. 

"  I  will  not  believe  it,"  she  said  slowly.  "  He  could 
not  do  it.  He  is  Leon,  my  love,  my  husband !  —  he  will 
never  give  me  up  and  betray  me !  —  he  will  never  marry 
another  while  I  live! — he  will  never  desert  me!  Mad- 
ame, I  do  not  believe  it." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  madame.  "  My  son,  the  Corate  de 
Soldana,  will  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Saison,  the  richeat 
heiress  and  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  France." 

She  need  not  have  said  these  last  words;  it  was  un- 
Decessary  cruelty  \  _the  beautiful  blue  eyes  dilated  with 


240  THE  BELLE   OF  LTOTr. 

horror.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  these  few  words 
threw  the  tried  brain  off  its  balance. 

"  If  I  believed  you,  madame,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I 
should  fall  down  dead  here  before  your  face ;  but  I  do 
not — I  do  not — I  cannot.  I  will  only  believe  it  when  he 
tells  me  —  when  he  says :  *  Lima,  once  my  love,  you  are 
not  my  wife.  I  am  going  to  desert  you  —  to  betray  you 
—  to  abandon  you.  I  love  some  one  else,  and  mean  to 
tnarry  her.'  When  my  husband  says  that  to  me,  I  will 
behcve  him,  and  —  and  die." 

Then,  with  eyes  full  of  pain,  she  looked  into  madame's 
face. 

"  You  say  that  she — this  French  lady — is  beautiful  ?  " 

"  She  is,  I  think,  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  France," 
answered  madame. 

"  And — rich  ?  "  asked  the  faint,  anxious  voice. 

"  She  is  a  wealthy  heiress,"  answered  madame. 

"  Beautiful  and  rich !  "  murmured  Lima.  "  And,  mad- 
ame, tell  me  truly  for  Heaven's  sake  does  Leon  —  does 
my  husband  love  her  ? " 

"  I  believe,"  said  madame,  earnestly,  "  that  he  loves 
her  with  all  his  heart." 

A  slight  shudder  ran  through  the  slender  figure. 

"  He  has  soon  forgotten  me,  if  that  be  true,"  she  said, 
slowly.  "  Yet  it  does  not  seem  a  long  time  since  he  said 
I  was  the  sunshine  of  his  life,  the  one  only  love  of  his 
heart  —  not  long,"  she  added,  with  a  dreary  sigh.  "  But 
I  will  never  beueve  it — I  will  not  believe  it  until  he  tells 
me  so  himself." 

Then  madame  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  I  should  like  to  go  to 
my  room.  We  will  finish  our  conversation  to-morrow. 
To-morrow  we  will  make  all  our  arrangements ;  I  will 
settle  for  you  where  you  are  to  live  and  what  you  will 
have  to  live  upon.    I  am  too  tired  to-night  to  say  more." 

The  blue  eyes,  with  their  daze  of  horror  and  pain, 
looked  into  hers. 

"  You  quite  understand,  madame,"  she  said,  "  that  I 
do  not  believe  it  —  that  I  will  not  believe  it  until  my 
husband  tells  me  the  same  thing  witli  his  own  lips." 

"  One  thing  is  quite  certain,"  said  madame ;  "  he  will 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN.  241 

not  come  here  to  tell  yon.  Yon  must  please  yourself  m 
to  believing ;  I  shall  not  give  myself  the  trouble  to  repeat 
one  word.     Good-night." 

And  with  a  stately  step  madame  quitted  the  room, 
following  the  little  maid  to  the  apartment  prepared  for 
her. 

She  slept  soundly;  no  haunting  dreams  of  the  girl 
whose  fair  young  life  she  had  slain  came  to  her,  no 
sorrowful  thoughts.  She  had  saved  her  son  from  the 
consequences  of  his  folly,  and  she  vindicated  tlie  honor 
of  the  Soldanas.  Her  ancestor,  the  Marquis  de  Faille, 
slept  just  as  soundly  after  his  carriage  had  driven  over 
the  child.  On  the  whole,  she  was  pretty  well  satisfied  ; 
the  interview  might  have  proven  much  more  disagreeable 
— Lima  might  have  been  much  more  diflficult  to  manage. 
As  it  was,  all  would  end  well ;  on  the  morrow  she  would 
attend  to  the  financial  part  of  the  business,  and  then  it 
would  be  ended.  Madame  laid  her  head  on  the  white 
pillow,  with  its  faint  odor  of  lavender,  quite  contented. 

But  if  there  was  a  heart  at  rest  in  the  room  above, 
there  was  one  nigh  broken  in  the  room  below.  For  some 
short  time  Lima  stood  where  madame  had  left  her,  her 
hands  clasped,  her  fair  head  drooping  on  her  breast,  her 
heart  aching  until  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  die  of 
the  pain. 

The  waves  of  memory  and  of  sorrow  that  swept  over 
her  as  she  stood,  dazed  and  bewildered  her  —  that  Leon 
had  left  her ;  that  his  marriage  with  her  was  no  marriage ; 
that  his  wish  was  to  leave  her  —  and,  oh,  sorrow  above  all 
sorrow !  — •  that  he  had  learned  to  care  for  some  one  else 
— the  most  beautiful  girl  in  France ! 

Ah,  never  —  that  should  never  be !  She  would  not 
believe  it  from  any  lips  but  his,  and  even  if  he  told  her  it 
was  to  be  so,  it  should  never  he.  No  woman  living  should 
step  in  between  Leon  and  herself  to  part  them ;  no  wom- 
an living,  no  matter  how  beautiful  or  how  rich,  should 
take  her  husband  from  her.  She  would  go  to  him  — 
straight  to  him — leaving  madame  where  she  was.  With- 
out one  word  to  any  one  living  she  would  go  to  him  and 
know  the  truth. 

How,  mattered  little.    Quietlj,  as  though  she  had  been 


242  THB  BBLLB   OF   LYNN. 

going  to  the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  she  put  on  her  bon- 
net and  mantle.     If  any  one  had  met  her  in  that  dazed 
state,  and  had  asked  her  where  she  was  going,  she  would 
have  answered,  quite  simply : 
"  To  France — to  see  Leon  I " 


CHAPTER  XLYIIL 

A  WEiBD  wind  was  blowing  that  night ;  it  seemed  to 
have  a  human  voice  within  it.  It  rose  and  fell,  it  wailed 
and  sobbed,  it  moaned  and  cried — it  was  neither  cold  nor 
bitter ;  but  it  racked  the  big  branches,  and  bent  the  tall, 
bare  heads  of  the  trees ;  it  sighed  over  the  broad  bosom 
of  Allan  "Water,  rippling  the  surface  that  generally  lay  so 
clear  and  still  under  the  light  of  the  moon.  Sitting 
round  a  cheerful  fire,  with  bright  lights  and  laughing 
companions,  it  is  delightful  to  listen  to  such  a  wind ;  its 
weird  melancholy  has  a  charm  then  ;  the  long-drawn  sobs 
and  sighs  are  more  musical  than  sad.  A  wind  that  had 
in  it  the  faint  echoes  of  great  tragedies,  the  piteous  cries 
of  lost  souls,  the  wailing  of  unutterable  woe;  it  sighed  in 
tall  pine-trees,  in  the  grand  old  oaks,  in  the  aspens  that 
grew  near  the  water,  in  the  great  larches  that  stood  so 
erect  and  vigorous ;  but  there  was  no  spot  where  its  voice 
was  so  sad  or  so  pathetic  as  in  the  spreading  branches  of 
the  lime-trees  that  grew  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water. 
The  stoutest  heart  must  have  trembled,  the  most  courage- 
ous must  have  slightly  quailed;  never  was  music  so 
strange,  so  weird,  so  sad;  never  was  sound  at  once  so 
beautiful,  so  terrible,  or  so  melancholy. 

The  bright  afternoon  was  fading  away  into  the  dark- 
ness of  night  when  Mrs.  Derwent,  tired  of  the  house, 
tired  of  her  own  ceaseless  and  bitter  misery,  went  out  to 
the  only  place  where  comfort  and  solace  ever  came  to 
her.  From  the  time  that  Lima  was  a  child — a  fair,  lovely 
child  with  golden  hair  and  laughing,  lovely  mouth,  with 
sweet,  unconscious  grace  of  smile,  and  voice,  as  clear  and 
silvery  as  a  nightingale's  —  she  had  associated  her  with 
th^  lime-treeau 


THE  BELLE  OF  LTNK.  243 

This  woinaii,  whose  lot  in  life  was  but  lowly ;  who  was 
more  than  content  with  her  destiny  ;  who  knew  nothing 
of  pride,  ambition,  or  desfre  for  fame ;  who  loved  the  fair 
and  simple  beauties  of  nature  more  than  words  could  tell, 
and  more  than  she  herself  knew  how  to  express ;  this 
gentle  and  refined  woman  had  the  soul  of  a  poet.  It 
might  seem  strange  that  such  a  soul  should  have  been 
given  to  her,  whose  life  was  so  completely  hidden,  so 
completely  absorbed  in  simple  duties,  but  there  it  was. 

Had  she  been  a  woman  of  education,  or  had  she  in 
early  life  moved  in  the  society  of  intellectual  people  who 
would  have  understood  her,  in  all  probability  her  beauti- 
ful and  poetical  thoughts  would  have  found  vent  in 
words,  and  the  world  would  have  been  the  richer  by 
another  great  poetess ;  but  she  was  quite  unconscious  of 
her  own  powers ;  she  even  carefully  concealed  them.  If 
she  put  into  words  her  thoughts  over  trees  and  flowers, 
over  the  water  that  rippled  under  the  moon,  or  the  stars 
that  shone  by  night,  her  husband  laughed  at  them  —  a 
kindly,  good-natured  laugh,  it  is  true,  but  there  was  in  it 
a  laugh  of  contempt.  Lima  had  understood  her,  because 
she  had  inherited  some  of  her  nature  —  no  one  else  did. 

What  that  gentle,  kindly  woman  suffered  through  the 
estrangement  of  father  and  daughter,  no  one  could  ever 
tell  or  estimate.  She  loved  them  both,  and  would  have 
given  her  life  for  them. 

She  had  never  dared  to  disobey  her  husband's  com- 
mands, although  her  very  heart  yearned  toward  her 
daughter.  She  had  never  dared  to  disobey  him  and  seek 
her  out.  The  only  comfort  she  had  in  her  life,  and  that 
was  a  small  one,  was  that  she  could  occasionally  hear 
news  of  her  from  Mrs.  Grey,  of  Clover  Farm,  who  saw 
Lima  at  times  when  she  went  to  Lynn.  The  poor  moth- 
er listened  with  a  hungry  heart  to  every  detail  that  could 
be  brought  to  her,  longing  always  to  hear  more,  listening 
witb  fast-falling  tears,  longing  with  unutterable  longing 
for  one  glance,  one  kiss  of  that  beantifnl  face,  yet  feel- 
ing in  her  heart  that  she  must  stand  by  her  husband's 
wishes  and  obey  his  commands.  Lima  had  her  husband, 
and  Mrs.  Grey  brought  home  many  a  story  of  his  devo- 
tion to  her ;  Lima  had  her  husband,  bat  the  miller  had 


S44  TB8  BBLLB  07  LTlTir. 

no  one  now  save  herself.  She  knew  however  mnch  he 
might  love  her,  he  would  not  hesitate  for  one  moment  in 
carrying  out  his  threats ;  if  ever  he  discovered  that  she 
had  any  communication  with  her  daughter,  no  matter 
how  or  by  what  means,  he  would  send  her  from  his 
doors  and  never  see  her  again.  She  said  to  herself  on* 
could  measure  his  love  for  Lima  and  the  hatred  of  what 
she  had  done  from  that  fact  alone. 

Lima  was  happy  in  the  love  and  devotion  of  her  hand' 
some  young  husband.  She  had  chosen  him  in  prefer- 
ence to  them,  but  if  the  miller  were  left  alone  who 
would  there  be  to  console  or  to  comfort  him  ?  Her  heart 
melted  at  the  picture  of  her  husband,  grown  haggard, 
old,  and  gray,  brooding  ever  and  always  over  the  ter- 
rible wound  of  his  life,  the  loss  of  his  daughter. 

Ah,  no !  she  must  be  loyal  to  him  —  help  him,  cheer 
him,  as  good  wives  do.  It  would  all  come  right  in 
time ;  she  prayed  Heaven  every  day  of  her  life,  and 
sometimes  all  day  long  that  father  and  child  might  be 
reconciled  ;  it  must  come  in  time.  Heaven  would  never 
be  dead  to  her  many  prayers,  and  in  the  meantime  she 
must  be  patient  and  bear  her  cross  as  well  as  she  could. 

She  was  patient:  although  Lima  was  always  in  her 
mind  and  in  her  thoughts,  she  never  named  her.  There 
were  nights  when  she  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  and  morn- 
ings when  she  rose  her  pillow  was  wet  with  tears ;  but 
strong  as  was  the  impulse  to  speak  to  her,  bitter  as  was 
the  pain  of  repressing  that  longing,  she  never  once  utter- 
ed the  beloved  name.  She  watched  the  miller  earnet^tly 
and  continually  for  any  si^n  of  relenting,  and  then  she 
would  have  said  all  that  ner  heart  was  full  of.  But 
those  signs  never  came ;  there  was  no  relenting  in  the 
gloomy,  sorrowHStricken  man  who  had  written  the  word 
*'  died  "  after  his  daughter's  name. 

Of  late  Mrs.  Derwent  had  been  more  unhappy  than 
nsual.  She  had  not  heard  of  Leon's  going  to  France 
until  February,  and  then  she  had  heard  a  strange  garbled 
account,  so  that  she  thought  he  had  just  gone.  She 
heard  again  in  June  that  he  had  not  returned,  but  that 
Lima  expected  him  home  every  day.  She  heard  the 
same  story  contioaally  —  that  he  liad  not  returned,  bat 


THE   BELLE    OF  LTNW.  846 

that  he  was  expected  every  day  ;  and  she  longed  to  kneel 
at  her  husband's  knees,  to  say  to  him  that  Lima  was  all 
alone,  and  beg  of  him  for  pity's  sake  to  let  her  go  to  see 
her ;  but  there  was  tliat  in  his  face  which  forbade  it ; 
such  a  prayer  from  her  would  but  have  made  matteni 
worse,  so  it  died  unspoken  on  her  lips. 

Mrs.  Grey  could  tell  her  nothing  ;  no  reason  was  even 
given  why  the  young  husband  was  so  long  away.  But 
one  thing  Mrs.  Grey  did  tell  her,  and  that  was,  Lima 
looked  very  ill  —  that  she  had  lost  her  beautiful  color ; 
she  was  growing  thin  and  pale  —  that  her  eyes  were  dim 
and  her  step  without  fleetness. 

"  She  is  miserable,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  farmer's  wife. 
"  If  ever  I  saw  misery  on  any  face,  it  is  written  on 
her's." 

And  those  words  had  seemed  to  bum  themselves  on 
the  mother's  brain. 

She  walked  to  and  fro  beneath  the  lime-trees,  her 
heart  heavy  with  its  weight  of  woe,  listening  to  that 
weird,  sad  music,  and  wondering  what  the  wind  was 
wailing  over.  It  was  dark  when  she  went  back  to  the 
mill ;  the  fire  was  burning  brightly,  and  the  miller  sat 
reading  the  paper  by  the  light  of  the  lamp.  The  little 
scene  looked  bright  enough,  but  to  the  mother  it  was 
desolate  without  her  child. 

"  You  are  late,  Helen,"  said  the  miller.  "  It  is  late 
and  cold,  and  dark,  my  dear ;  where  have  you  been  wan- 
dering? " 

"  1  have  been  walking  under  the  lime-trees,"  she  said. 

The  miller's  face  darkened  at  the  words.  He  knew 
well  that  the  lime-trees  had  spoken  to  her  of  Lima. 
That  was  why  she  looked  pale  and  worn.  The  lime- 
trees  and  Lima  were,  he  knew,  one  in  her  mind. 

"  The  lime-trees ! "  he  repeated,  with  some  little 
scorn.  "  Do  you  not  think  it  would  have  been  much 
more  sensible  if  you  had  sat  by  the  fireside  here  ? " 

"  I  could  not  help  going  out,  John,"  she  answered, 
dreamily.  "  Something  seems  to  call  me.  I  am  always 
restless  when  the  wind  blows  in  this  fashion.  I  hear 
voices  in  it.    I  wonder  if  other  people  do  the  same  I " 


S4<J  THE  BELLE   OF   LTNW, 

"  Other  people  have  generally  a  snin  of  common 
seiwe,"  saia  the  miller,  with  a  grim  smile. 

'*  I  cannot  help  it,"  she  continued.  "  If  I  were  to 
tell  yon,  John,  what  the  wind  has  been  wailing  through 
the  trees,  what  dirge  it  haa  been  singing,  what  a  mourn- 
ful lament  seemed  to  pass  through  the  branches  and  die 
ou  the  ground — you  would  hardly  believe  it." 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  not,"  he  answered  her.  "  Come, 
He'=jn,  sit  down  by  the  fire  and  lose  that  dazed,  troubled 
look  ;  forget  all  about  the  lime-trees." 

"  I  cannot,"  she  answered,  with  a  shudder.  "  Oh,  if 
I  dfire — if  I  dare  but  tell  you  what  they  said.  Oh,  John, 
my  heart  is  breaking,"  and  the  unhappy  woman  flung 
herself  on  her  knees  at  his  feet  with  a  passionate  out- 
burst of  tears,  "  There  is  danger  abroad,"  she  cried, 
"  I  cannot  tell  where  it  is  or  what  it  is,  but  it  is  abroad, 
and  I  can  feel  it ;  I  can  hear  it.     Oh,  John,  listen !  " 

The  wind  rose  with  a  plaintive  sigh,  with  a  weird, 
melancholy  sobbing  that  would  have  frightened  a  more 
courageous  person.  It  beat  on  the  surface  of  Allan 
Water  until  they  could  hear  the  faint  sound  as  it  washed 
the  reeds  and  the  sedges. 

**  Even  the  water  is  rising,  John  ;  I  can  hear  it.  Oh, 
my  dear,  there  is  danger.  The  wind  would  never  wail 
like  that  unless  something  were  wrong.  I — "  but  she 
dare  not  finish  her  sentence.  She  had  been  on  the  point 
of  saying  —  "  I  am  afraid  for  Lima,"  but  at  the  signt  of 
his  face  the  words  died  on  her  lips. 

"  Mind  what  you  are  saying !  "  cried  the  miller.  He 
knew  that  she  was  about  to  utter  her  daughter's  name, 
and  he  would  never  have  forgiven  her  had  she  done  so ; 
but  the  sight  of  her  white,  tearful  face  touched  him. 
He  threw  his  strong  arm  round  her.  "  Never  mind,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  take  care  of  you,  Helen ;  nothing  shall 
harm  you  while  I  am  near." 


Ta»  BSLLK^OF  LTnu  S#7 


CHAPTER  XMX. 

Screaming,  shrieking,  with  sobs  and  moans  bo  exactly 
like  those  of  i  human  voice,  it  seemed  as  though  some 
great  tragedy  must  be  taking  place  on  Allan  Water;  the 
wind  seemed  almost  to  rock  the  old  mill.  It  was  pnst 
midnight,  and  as  yet  the  miller's  wife  had  found  no  rest ; 
it  was  as  though  the  wind  swayed  her,  as  though  its 
melancholy,  mad  music  touched  her  brain.  Her  comely 
face  was  white  and  drawn,  her  eyes  wild  with  fright  and 
terror.  More  than  once  she  had  started  up,  feeling  sure 
that  some  one  was  crying  at  the  window,  wanting  to  enter 
the  room.  The  miller  had  been  very  patient  with  her 
and  very  kind  to  her,  but  at  last  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and 
the  wind  might  blow  as  it  listed. 

Mrs.  Derwent  went  to  the  window.  Surely  that  must 
be  a  human  voice,  so  full  was  it  of  human  anguish  and 
pain.  She  would  have  hardly  been  surprised  had  she 
seen  there  a  white,  wild  face,  but  there  was  nothing. 
The  night  was  dark,  with  the  faintest  possible  light  in 
the  sky ;  the  white  clouds  hurried  along,  the  wind  seem- 
ed to  drive  them  across  the  sky ;  no  moon,  no  stars.  She 
c«uld  hear  the  bending  of  the  branches  and  the  wash  of 
the  waters ;  but  what,  what  was  it  the  wind  was  saying  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !  send  me  rest !  "  she  prayed  ;  "  pend 
me  sleep  I " 

Then  —  she  was  quite  sure  of  it  —  a  voice  called, 
"  Mother !  "  a  sweet,  clear  voice,  the  sound  of  which  had 
always  warmed  her  heart  with  love.  Above  the  sobs  and 
sighs,  above  the  rustling  of  the  boughs,  it  came  again  — 
"  Mother  !  "  And  in  it  there  was  the  ring  of  passionate 
pain.     She  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  John !  John  !  "  she  cried,  "  listen !  Do  you  hear 
anything — I  do — out  there  in  the  dark  night  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  miller,  "  I  hear  nothing." 

«  I  do— I  do !  "  she  cried.     "  I  hear  it !     Oh,  John  !  " 

Again  the  shrill,  sweet  cry  —  "  Mother !  "     She  looke4 


948  THB   BELLB   OF  LTITir. 

at  her  Imsband,  and  the  very  bitterness  of  death  was  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ? "  she  asked.  "  It  is  noth- 
ing li>dng.     No  living  voice  has  that  sound  save  one." 

"  I  know,"  he  answered,  and  he  turned  from  her  with 
a  look  that  she  never  again  saw  on  his  face.     She  went  to 
the  window ;  she  did  not  wait  to  ask  this  time ;  her  very 
heart  seemed  to  be  dravm  from  her  breast  by  that  cry 
She  opened  it,  and  the  miller  said  no  word. 

At  first  there  was  nothing  but  the  darkness  of  the 
night  and  the  wailing  of  the  wind,  then  once  again  the 
cry  of  "  Mother  1  "  and  then,  her  eyes  piercing  the  gloom 
and  the  darkness  of  the  night,  because  of  the  love  that 
filled  them,  against  the  great  alder  trees  she  saw  quite 
plainly — Lima,  with  her  arms  raised  and  her  hands 
clasped. 

Silently  and  swiftly  she  went  back  to  her  husband ; 
she  spoke  no  word,  but  led  him  to  the  window,  and 
pointed  to  the  figure  under  the  trees. 

"  It  is  dark,  John,"  she  said,  after  a  time,  "  but  yon 
can  see." 

"  I  can  see,"  he  said,  gruffly ;  "  but,  mind,  I  keep  my 
word.  The  dead  cannot  return — the  dead  shall  not  enter 
here." 

"  Mother,  are  you  there  ?  Can  you  hear  me  ? "  cried 
Lima,  and  the  miller's  wife  seized  her  husband's  arm. 

"  Say  I  may  speak,  John  1 "  and  her  words  were  so 
sharply  uttered  they  sounded  almost  like  a  hiss  in  his 
ears. 

"  Speak,"  he  answered. 

"  I  hear  you,  my  love,  my  darling !  "  cried  the  hapless 
mother. 

"  I  will  not  come  to  the  threshold  of  the  door  until  my 
father  bids  me  come  —  but,  oh,  mother,  mother !  I  am  in 
such  sore  distress  I  " 

"  May  I  bid  her  come,  John  ?  "   asked  his  wife. 

"  No !  "  thundered  the  miller.  "  She  had  to  choose 
between  him  and  me.     She  chose  him,  let  her  go  to  him." 

"  Mother,  listen  to  me,  I  cannot  see  you,  but  I  know 
you  are  there.  Tell  my  father  that  the  curse  is  falling 
lieavily  —  falling  down  on  me  and  crushing  my  life — the 


THE   BKLLK   OP   LTKK.  3^9 

curse  of  the  disobedient  that  is  to  follow  me  wherever  I 
go.     Ask  him  to  take  it  back  before  it  crnehes  me." 

"  Oh,  John,  for  Heaven's  sake,  be  pitiful  to  the  child, 
our  only  child  —  the  little  fair-haired  child  you  loved  so 
dearly  once  ;  be  pitiful  to  her,  speak  to  her !  " 

*'  I  will  noty^  he  answered.  "  She  made  her  choice, 
let  her  abide  by  it." 

"  At  least,  if  yon  have  no  pity,  no  mercy,  be  just 
She  asks  you  to  take  that  terrible  curse  from  her.  Let 
me  tell  her  that  you  will  ?  " 

"  It  shall  stay  as  it  is,"  he  said,  sternly.  "  She  is  dead 
to  me.     You  saw  me  write  the  date  when  she  died." 

His  anger  was  growing,  was  making  him  savage  and 
fierce  ;  to  see  her  who  had  been  the  very  joy  of  his  heart, 
whom  he  had  loved  as  few  fathers  love  their  children, 
maddened  him.  It  was  the  very  intensity  of  his  love  for 
her  that  made  him  so  desperate  and  angry  now ;  to  think 
how  she  would  have  been  cherished  and  beloved  at  home ; 
to  see  her  standing  there  in  the  cold  and  darkness  mad- 
dened him,  and  the  madness  of  his  anger  fell  upon  her. 
He  was  far  more  likely  to  have  redoubled  his  curse  than 
to  have  withdrawn  it. 

"  Mother,"  cried  Lima,  "  pray  to  him  —  pray  to  him ! 
Tell  him  that  it  is  killing  me !  Tell  him  it  is  falling  on 
tne  in  so  cruel  a  shape  —  so  cruel  a  form  —  that  I  cannot 
bear  it !     Tell  him  I  cannot  bear  it !  " 

"  Will  you  take  pity  on  her,  John  ? " 

"  No ;  as  she  has  sown  let  her  reap.  She  shall  not 
enter  my  doors.  I  will  never  see  her  or  speak  to  her 
again.     She  is  dead !  " 

"  Dead  !  "  The  wind  seemed  to  '  uch  up  the  word 
and  fling  it  over  the  rustling  branches. 

"Say  no  more,  wife.  Come  away;  if  I  stand  here 
and  listen  to  this  much  longer  1  shall  go  mad,  or  I  shall 
do  some  mischief." 

"  Lima  I  "  cried  the  hapless  mother,  "  what  is  it  ? 
What  are  you  doing  here  ?  What  has  brought  you  here 
at  this  time  of  night?     What  has  happened  ? " 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  my  father  to  take  that  terrible 
curse  from  me,  for  I  am  going  away,  and  I  am  frightened. 
Ohl  mother  1  listen  while  I  tell  you  alL    They  hare 


350  THE  BELLE   OF   LTSJSt. 

taken  my  Leon,  my  husband,  from  me.  He  went  awav 
at  Christmas  time,  and  has  never  returned.  He  is  a  rida 
man  now — all  his  money  and  lands  have  been  given  back 
to  him ;  he  is  great  and  powerful.  They  have  taken  him 
from  me.  They  say — oh !  false  and  cruel  lie !  —  that  my 
marriage  was  not  a  valid  one  ;  that  I  am  his  wife  in  Eng- 
land, and  not  in  France.  His  mother  has  come  to  tell 
rue  so ;  and  they  want  him  to  marry  some  beautiful  and 
'.vealthy  lady  who  lives  in  France." 

"  John,"  cried  the  miller's  wife,  "  do  you  not  hear  it  ? 
Will  you  not  speak?  Will  you  not  go  to  the  rescue  of 
your  only  child  ?     Will  you  not  avenge  her  ?  " 

"  No,  she  took  her  fate  in  her  own  hands,"  he  an- 
swered; but  liifl  face  was  pallid  with  a  pallor  that  was 
terrible  to  see.  If  Leon  de  Soldana  had  been  near  him, 
there  would  have  been  murder,  and  of  a  terrible  kind, 
too. 

"  I  am  going  away,  mother.  I  will  not  believe  what 
this  proud,  wicked  woman  tells  me.  I  am  going  to  find 
my  husband,  and  know  from  his  own  lips  whether  there 
is  any  truth  in  the  story.  I  will  not  believe  one  word, 
except  from  him.  I  am  going  away  to  France  to  find 
him,  and  I  am  sorely  afraid.  I  have  never  been  on  the 
sea  before,  and  I  come  to  pray  my  father  to  take  that 
curse  from  me,  lest  the  waves  of  the  sea  should  carry  it 
out  and  drown  me.  I  could  not  go  without  coming  to 
tell  you.  I  knew  my  father  would  not  speak  to  me ;  I 
knew  he  ■"  ould  not  let  me  come  inside  the  door,  but  I 
thought  he  vould  take  that  curse  from  me  which  is 
crushing  me.  I  could  not  go  without  coming  back  to 
tell  you  both  i.  w  I  love  you.  How  I  grieve  —  never 
that  I  have  marri  \  my  dear  love,  but  that  I  have  dis- 
appointed you  who  .  »ave  always  been  so  loving,  so  good 
to  me." 

In  the  faint  light  that  came  from  the  sky  they  saw  her 
stretch  out  her  hands  to  them  in  mute  appeal,  and  then, 
with  a  cry  of  unuttered  pain,  she  was  gone. 

"  Lima,  Lima  I  "  cried  the  helpless  mother.  "  Lima, 
come  back ! " 

The  wind  seemed  to  catch  up  the  words  and  to  re-echo 
them  oyer  the  broad  breast  oi  Allan  Water.    But  Lima 


THE  BELLE  OP  LTHW.  251 

was  gone  —  there  was  nothing  but  the  bare  branches  of 
the  alder-trees. 

"  Lima !  "  she  cried  again,  but  the  miller  turned  to  her 
with  a  dark,  set  face. 

*'  Not  another  word,  Helen,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  had 
quite  enough." 

She  looked  at  him  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  with  a 
defiant  expression  on  her  face,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
angrily  into  his. 

If  a  white  dove  had  turned  suddenly  and  wounded 
him,  he  could  not  have  been  more  surprised. 

"  You  are  merciless,  John  Derwent ! "  she  cried  — 
"  cruel  and  merciless  to  my  child  ;  cruel  and  unjust ! 
The  time  will  come  when  the  mercy  you  have  refused 
her  will  be  refused  to  you ! " 

He  was  not  angry  with  her ;  he  seemed  to  understand 
the  outraged  sense  of  her  motherhood  within  her. 

"  You  have  heard  what  she  said.  Oh,  John,  arid  you 
stood  still!  You  did  not  stretch  out  a  hand  to  her!  If 
you  were  the  man  I  once  thought  you  to  be,  John,  you 
would  cross  the  sea  and  seek  out  the  young  man,  and  you 
would  teach  him  what  English  fathers  think  of  French 
marriage  laws ! " 

"  She  chose  between  us,"  he  said,  hardening  his  heart 
against  this  last  appeal,  which  touched  his  honor  so 
closely.  "  I  had  loved  her,  cherished  her,  worked  for 
her  all  my  life,  and  she  had  not  known  him  long ;  when 
she  weighed  us  both  in  the  balance  it  was  the  father  she 
gave  up,  not  the  lover." 

"  But  you  will  help  her  now  ? "  she  cried,  in  a  very 
passion  of  earnestness.  "  You  must,  you  cannot  remain 
silent  and  passive,  while  those  who  are  her  enemies  take 
her  fair  name  and  her  husband  from  her ;  you  cannot  let 
her  go  a  stranger  into  a  strange  land.  I  knew  there  was 
danger,  and  the  danger  is  worse  than  death.  Oh,  John 
Derwent,  save  your  daughter,  save  my  child.  You  will 
be  worse  than  a  murderer  if  you  do  not  help  her  now." 

"  I  shall  not  help  her,"  he  said,  more  sternly  than  ever. 
"  Let  her  abide  by  her  choice,"  and  when  Mrs.  Derwent 
heard  those  words  she  fell  to  the  ground  like  one  strickeao 
dead. 


269  THE  BELLB   OF  LTHH. 

He  raised  her,  he  soothed  her,  he  was  kindness  and 
gentleness  itself  to  her,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  the 
name  again. 

And  when  it  was  quite  early  in  the  morning  he  went 
out,  and  he  was  seen  no  more  at  Allan  Mill  that  daj. 


CHAPTER  L. 

Madamb  la  Comtesse  db  Soldana  slept  well.  She 
was  quite  content  with  the  aspect  of  affairs,  and  when, 
late  in  the  morning,  she  awoke,  she  was  in  no  hurry  to 
go  down  to  the  pretty  little  sitting-room.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  arrange,  she  told  herself,  but  Lima's 
future  ;  where  she  should  live,  and  what  she  should  have 
to  live  upon,  were  minor  matters  that  could  be  settled  in 
one  half  hour.  She  rang  for  the  little  maid  to  bring  her 
some  tea,  she  asked  if  the  mistress  of  the  house  were 
down-stairs  yet,  and  was  told  —  for  Jean  had  no  idea  that 
Lima  had  left  the  house  —  she  believed  her  to  be  still 
sleeping  in  her  room. 

"  Do  not  disturb  her  for  me,"  said  madame,  grandly. 
"  I  am  glad  she  is  resting." 

A  faint  smile  curled  her  proud  lips.  The  news  she 
had  brought  could  not  have  been  so  terrible,  after  all,  to 
her,  if  she  could  sleep  so  soundly  and  so  long.  It  was 
not  so  much  of  a  victory  after  all. 

"  If  I  had  known  or  guessed  that  she  would  have 
taken  it  so  easily  as  to  sleep  after  it,  I  should  not  have 
troubled  myself  with  this  long  journey  ;  one  of  the  law- 
yers would  have  done  just  as  well." 

Madame  looked  round  the  little  room.  No  one  loved 
comfort  and  luxury  more  than  she  did ;  she  felt  a  long- 
ing desire  to  get  away,  now  that  her  work  was  done ;  she 
missed  all  the  warmth  and  splendor  of  her  own  home. 

It  was  pretty,  this  little  cottage-home,  but  how  out  of 
place  her  princely  son  must  have  looked  here,  just  as 
lima,  who  was  beautiful  exceedingly,  would  be  quite  out 
of  place  as  mistress  of  Belle  d'Or. 

jShe  went  down-stairs,  but  the  only  sound  she  heard 


THE  BKLLB   OF  LTNH.  253 

was  the  little  maid  sinking  in  the  parlor ;  a  bright  fire 
burned,  and  the  neat  little  breakfast  still  stood  untouched 
on  the  table. 

"  She  sleeps  well,"  said  madame,  with  contempt  in  her 
face.     "  I  need  not  have  been  alarmed." 

She  sat  in  silence  for  some  time,  trying  to  realize  what 
life  must  have  been  like  for  her  son  when  he  was  here. 
Then  she  began  to  feel  nervous  about  the  time ;  she 
looked  at  her  little  jewelled  watch  ;  it  was  nearly  one, 
and  the  carriage  was  to  be  there  by  two ;  there  was  still 
the  conversation  to  finish.  She  rang  once  more  for  the 
little  maid,  who  came  in,  looking  more  astonished  and 
frightened  at  her  mysterious  visitor  than  ever. 

"I  want  to  see  your  mistress  before  I  go,"  she  said, 
*'  and  I  am  going  very  soon.  Will  you  go  to  her  room 
and  tell  her  that  I  am  waiting  for  her  ?  " 

With  a  deep  courtesy  Jean  hastened  away ;  in  a  few 
moments  she  returned. 

"  She  is  not  there,  ma'am,"  said  Jean. 

"  Not  there  ? "  repeated  madame.  "  Then  you  must 
find  her ;  she  must  be  somewhere." 

But  Jean  looked  far  more  inclined  to  cry  than  to 
search  for  her  mistress. 

"  I  have  not  seen  her,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "  all  this 
morning.  She  gets  up  before  me,  and  goes  out ;  but 
this  morning  I  have  not  seen  her." 

"  Has  she  had  any  tea  ?  "  asked  madame,  looking  at  the 
untouched  breakfast-table. 

"No,"  was  the  answer,  and  madame  frowned  impa- 
tiently. 

"  You  must  find  her,"  she  cried.  "  Time  passes 
quickly." 

You  must  find  her  at  once,"  for  it  had  not  dawned 
across  madame's  mind  that  Lima  had  really  gone.  She 
must  be  somewhere  — gone  into  the  garden  or  the  town. 
She  would  soon  be  back — if  not,  why  she,  madame,  must 
wait. 

Jean  returned. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  garden,"  she  said,  "  but  my  mis- 
tress is  not  there." 

"You  must  look  f or  her__imtil  you  find  her,"  said 


254  THE  BSLLE   OF   LTKK. 

Madame  la  Comtesse,  sharply  ;  "  and  remember,  when 
you  speak  to  me,  you  must  call  me  '  Madame  I '  " 

She  tried  to  sit  still,  but  every  nerve  was  on  the  ten- 
sion ;  she  took  up  a  book,  but  found  it  impossible  to 
read. 

"  Just  what  one  might  have  expected,"  she  thought ; 
"ill-bred,  unmannerly,  to  go  out  and  leave  me  in  this 
fashion.  She  ought  to  have  shown  me  more  respect.  I 
shall  tell  her  what  I  think  of  her." 

No  Lima  came.  The  clock  struck  one.  Madame  sat 
for  another  hour,  working  herself  up  to  a  perfect  fury ; 
there  was  no  one  to  visit  it  on  but  the  weeping  Jean. 
Two  o'clock,  and  the  carriage  came.  Another  storm  of 
angry  questions,  to  which  Jean  could  make  no  answer. 

Her  mistress  never  visited  any  one ;  it  was  not  likely 
that  she  had  gone  to  spend  the  day  with  any  friends ;  she 
had  not  seen  her  mistress  since  last  night ;  she  did  not 
know  one  single  place  where  she  could  go  to  find  her ; 
all  of  which  answers  to  madame's  peremptory  questions 
the  little  maid  gave  with  many  tears. 

Suddenly,  like  a  flash  of  hghtning,  the  thought  came 
to  madame,  the  suspicion,  the  idea,  that  Lima  had  gone 
to  her  husband.  She  had  said  over  and  over  again  that 
she  would  believe  this  story  from  no  other  lips  but  his, 
and  now  the  chances  were  that  she  had  gone  to  him. 

"  Go  upstairs  at  once,"  said  madame  to  the  trembling 
Jean,  "  and  see  if  your  mistress  has  slept  in  her  room." 

Jean  returned  more  frightened  than  ever,  to  say 
"  No,"  and  then  madame  was  quite  sure.  She  blamed 
herself  that  she  had  not  thought  of  it  before  —  that  she 
had  wasted  all  this  time  in  supine  silence.  She  took 
from  her  travelling-bag  a  time-table  and  opened  it  quick- 
ly. She  found  that  if  Lima  had  left  Lyim  Railway  Sta- 
tion by  the  train  that  passed  through  at  six  o'clock  she 
would  be  able  to  reach  Dover  in  time  for  the  boat  which 
left  at  noon.  The  next  thing  obviously  was  to  go  to  the 
station  and  make  inquiries  there.  Yes,  the  ticket-clerk 
remembered  a  young  lady  had  purchased  a  third-class 
ticket,  and  had  gone  to  London  by  the  six  o'clock  train. 
He  knew  her  quite  well.  She  was  the  miller's  daughter, 
known  as  the  Belle  of  L jnn. 


/  THE  BELLK  OF  LTNH.  255 

Madame  had  felt  sure  of  it.  While  she  was  sleeping 
calmly,  thinking  her  cares  and  troubles  were  ended,  Lima 
wab  leaving  home  to  go  in  search  of  her  husband. 

"  "What  will  happen  in  France  1 "  was  her  first  thought. 
If  this  girl,  with  her  fragile,  delicate  loveliness  and  ner 
passionate  love  for  Leon,  managed  to  see  him,  there  was 
no  answering  for  what  might  happen.  Madame  had 
begun  to  understand  that,  with  all  his  physical  beauty 
and  his  princely  bearing,  there  was  more  than  a  tinge  of 
weakness  in  her  son's  character.  She  knew  that  he  was 
easily  influenced.  Princess  Helene  had  almost  influ- 
enced him  to  make  him  fall  deeply  in  love  vdth  her ;  no 
doubt  Lima,  with  her  beauty  and  her  love,  would  influ- 
ence him  again.  It  was  just  possible  that  on  her  return 
to  France  she  would  find  all  that  she  had  done  undone, 
and  the  idea  made  her  wroth  exceedingly.  To  think 
that  she,  the  Comtesse  de  Soldana,  should  be  outwitted 
by  a  lowly  bom  English  girl.  To  think  that  she  should 
have  been  so  completely  oflE  her  guard  as  never  even  to 
have  thought  of  this. 

One  thing  was  quite  certain ;  she  must  hasten  home  to 
Paris  as  quickly  as  rail  and  steam  could  carry  her.  She 
might  be  too  late  to  prevent  any  mischief,  or  she  might 
be  in  time,  but  she  would  hasten  as  quickly  as  she  could. 

But  to  her  intense  annoyance  and  mortification,  she 
found  that  she  could  not  start  for  Paris  before  midnight. 
Do  as  she  would,  travel  as  she  would,  Lima  must  be 
twenty-four  hours  in  Paris  before  she  could  reach  there. 

In  twenty-four  hours  what  mischief  could  be  done; 
what  a  wreck  could  be  made  of  all  her  plans  and  arrange- 
ments !  What  changes  could  be  wrought  by  the  appear- 
ance of  a  beautiful  young  girl  who  was  a  wife  in  England 
and  no  wife  in  France ! 

Madame  la  Comtesse  had  never  been  so  angry.  After 
all  her  diplomacy,  her  trouble,  her  fatigue,  her  mission 
was  a  dead  failure.  She  had  made  matters  worse*,  she 
had  driven  Lima  back  to  her  husband's  arras,  when  she 
had  intended  to  part  them  forever.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed her  anger  and  impatience. 

But  in  her  wildest  thoughts  she  never  dreamed  of  tht 


356  THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

reality ;  in  her  most  fearful  foreboding  she  never  antici- 
pated anything  so  terrible  as  the  tragedy  which  had  hap- 
pened, and  which  she  was  soon  to  know. 


CHAPTER  LI 

A  DKEAM  of  pain  ?  A  long  trance  of  what  was  like  help- 
less, hopeless  despair,  a  dream  of  which  the  commence- 
ment was  the  walk  from  the  cottage  at  Lynn  to  the  mill 
at  Allan  Water.  To  Lima  it  seemed  now  a  certainty 
that  her  father's  curse  had  fallen  upon  her,  and  that  un- 
less it  were  removed  no  good  could  ever  come  to  her  in 
life  again.  She  would  go  to  him  and  ask  him.  She 
knew  that  he  would  not  be  reconciled  to  her,  that  he 
would  not  admit  her  within  the  threshold,  but  he  would 
surely  recall  this  terrible  curse  which  was  already  wither- 
ing her  life  away.  She  knew  that  the  whole  place  would 
be  in  silence  and  darkness,  but  surely  if  she  stood  under 
the  alder-trees  where  she  had  played  so  often  when  she 
was  a  child,  and  called  to  her  mother,  her  voice  would  be 
heard.  So  the  first  part  of  that  long  and  terrible  dream 
was  the  walk  from  the  cottage  at  Lynn  to  the  mill, 
throngh  the  cold  darkness,  with  the  wind  wailing  and 
moaning  and  the  white  clouds  hurrying  overhead.  It 
was  a  dream,  too,  when  she  stood  under  the  alder-trees, 
and  cried  out  to  her  mother ;  when  standing  there  by  the 
water's  side  she  heard  her  father's  voice,  his  reproaches, 
his  angry  words,  his  stem  refusal  to  take  back  from  her 
the  curse  which  he  had  laid  on  her.  As  she  listened  to 
them  each  word  seemed  to  enter  her  heart^nd  leave  there 
a  burning  brand. 

There  was  no  pardon,  no  pity  for  her,  €7en  in  her 
dream.  She  looked  lovingly  at  the  old  home,  she  stooped 
down  and  filled  her  hand  with  the  clear,  cold  water  that 
ran  from  the  mill  stream,  kissed  it  and  threw  it  back 
again.  The  words  of  the  old  ballad  came  back  to  her 
mind — 


I  ■  Tthe  belle  of  lynh.  i67 

*  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 

Where  the  sweet  spring-tide  did  fal!. 
Was  the  miller's  lovely  daughter, 

Fairest  of  them  all. 
For  a  bride  a  soldier  wooed  her. 

And  a  winning  tongue  had  he— 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 

None  so  gay  as  she." 

The  words  seemed  to  beat  through  her  brain.  Ak! 
sweet  snmrner  night,  when  she  had  sung  them,  and  her 
lover  had  listened. 

Then  she  left  the  old  home,  the  mill  stream,  the  banks 
of  Allan  water,  and  walked  to  the  railway  station  at 
Lynn. 

There  was  no  sign  of  morning  dawn  in  the  sky  when 
she  reached  the  station.  She  waited  there  until  the  train 
for  London  came  and  then  she  took  her  seat  in  it. 

A  dream  of  a  long,  cold  journey,  of  strange  faces  and 
loud  voices,  of  stopping  at  dreary  stations,  and  loud  hang- 
ings of  the  carriage-doors  —  a  dream  of  a  kindly  woman's 
face  looking  in  her  own,  and  a  voice  saying,  "  My  dear, 
how  very  ill  you  look.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  f " 
Then  she  found  herself  shivering  on  the  platform  of 
Dover  railway  station,  looking  around  her  with  bewil- 
dered eyes.  She  had  travelled  so  little  in  her  life,  that 
she  was  lost  and  bewildered. 

Above  all,  the  terrible,  burning  pain,  in  her  heart 
deadened  her  senses.  She  could  neither  hear  nor  see; 
fehere  was  a  mist  before  her  eyes,  and  a  rush  as  of  many 
waters  in  her  ears. 

There  are  some  good  Samaritans  left  in  the  world ;  ome 
3arae  to  her  aid  now ;  a  tall,  soldierly  looking  man,  who 
had  been  watching  her  for  some  short  time,  and  saw  that 
she  was  quite  incapable  of  taking  care  of  herself.  He 
went  up  to  her  and  asked  her  where  she  was  going,  and 
she  answered,  "  To  Paris."  She  saw  no  intermediate 
place.  She  never  thought  of  Dover  or  Calais ;  she  waa 
going  to  Paris,  to  Leon. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  the  good  Samaritan.  "  You 
seem  ill  and  bewildered." 

She  did  not  seem  to  think  it  strange  that  any  one  should 
address  her,  should  get  her  ticket,  inquire  if  she  had  aoj 


luggage,  bring  her  a  cup  of  hot,  strong  coffee,  find  het  a 
place  on  deck,  and  then,  like  a  true  knight  and  gentle- 
man that  he  was,  leave  her  without  waiting  for  one  word 
of  thanks,  and  watched  over  her  from  a  distance.  Then 
came  a  dream  of  the  heaving,  restless  sea,  a  blue  sky,  a 
^Id  wind ;  of  waves  that  ran  quickly,  of  sun  that  shone 
without  warmth,  and  all  the  time  the  sword  in  her  heart 
was  making  deeper  and  deeper  wounds.  The  waves  and 
'he  sky,  the  wind  that  freshened  the  water,  the  cries  of 
lihe  sailors,  all  seemed  to  her  part  of  the  dream. 

She  could  not  tell  afterward  whether  it  had  beon  a 
dream,  a  vision,  or  a  reality;  whether  the  waves  had 
lulled  her  to  sleep,  or  whether  her  spirit  left  her  tired, 
wearied  body,  and  went  back  to  the  banks  of  Allao 
Water ;  but  she  was  standing  there  in  the  sweet  summer 
time  when  the  lime-trees  were  in  full  leaf,  and  Leon,  her 
lover,  held  her  hands  clasped  in  his,  and  she  was  telling 
him  of  a  dream  she  had  had  —  a  dark,  terrible  dream,  in 
which  he  had  left  her  —  had  gone  to  France  and  waa 
never  returning  to  her  more. 

The  winds  blew  colder,  and  the  waves  rushed  by  the 
boat;  she  wakes,  sighs,  and  once  more  the  wind  lulls  her 
to  sleep.  She  is  in  a  boat  on  Allan  Water,  and  Leon  is 
rowing.  She  asks  him  to  get  some  water-lilies  for  her, 
and  he  rows  right  into  the  midst  of  them ;  she  sees  him 
bending  over  them,  gathering  them  for  her,  and  she 
hears  him  tell  her  that  no  lily  that  ever  grew  on  water  or 
on  land  was  half  so  fair  as  she ;  he  bends  down  to  kiss 
her  and  she  sits  silently,  happy,  in  the  warmth  of  that 
caress :  a  breath  of  wind,  a  rush  of  the  swelling  wavee, 
ohen  she  dreams  again. 

She  is  at  home  in  the  little  parlor  at  Sweetbrier  Cot- 
tage ;  the  great  red  roses  are  nodding  in  at  the  window ; 
the  air  is  full  of  the  odor  of  flowers;  Leon  sits  in  hia 
favorite  chair  reading,  and  she  near  to  him. 

"  The  Soldanas  were  a  great  race,"  he  said,  "  a  race  of 
cavaliers,  but  I  am  the  happiest  Soldana  of  them  all,  be- 
cause I  have  you,  Lima — losing  all  else,  I  have  you,"  and 
she  kissed,  in  a  fervor  of  love,  the  handsome  face  that  did 
oot  seem  to  have  one  line  of  falsity  in  it    Then  sh«  was 


TBI!  BBLLK  Of  LTKN.  S5ft 

With  him  at  Lynn  Railway  Station  ;  he  was  caressing  and 
consoling  her. 

"  I  shall  not  be  long  away,  mv  darling,"  he  was  saying. 
"  I  shall  be  with  you  again  before  the  leaves  are  on  the 
trees." 

The  train  steams  out  of  the  station,  and  to  the  last  he 
watches  her  with  loving  eyes. 

Let  the  wind  blow  and  the  mad  waves  rush  on,  she 
would  be  mad  as  they  to  doubt  that  he  loved  her  after  all 
these  proofs  of  love ;  wait  until  she  stood  before  him, 
held  out  her  arms  to  him,  cried  out  to  him  that  she  was 
there ;  notliing  could  come  between  them  then. 

So  the  long  dream  of  a  journey  went  on,  and  Calais 
was  reached  at  last.  She  stood  on  the  quay  there,  dazed 
and  bewildered  as  she  had  been  at  Dover,  and  the  same 
good  Samaritan  went  to  her  assistance. 

"  You  are  going  on  to  Paris,"  he  said  ;  "  let  me  find  a 
comfortable  seat  for  you." 

He  placed  her  in  a  carriage,  he  tried  to  talk  to  her, 
but  he  saw  her  senses  were  so  dazed  she  neither  saw  nor 
heard  him. 

Many  a  long  day  afterward  the  good  Samaritan  thought 
of  that  beautiful  colorless  face  with  the  burning  eyes, 
which  seemed  ever  looking  for  that  which  she  did  not  find. 

"  That  girl  will  have  brain-fever  soon,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, but  there  was  a  far  more  terrible  fate  than  brain- 
fever  hanging  over  Lima. 

Then  comes  a  rush  through  the  gathering  darkness  as 
the  train  speeds  on  its  way  to  Paris.  The  carriage  is 
quite  full,  but  she  is  as  mucli  alone  as  though  she  were 
travelling  in  the  desert  of  Sahara.  Her  companions  were 
all  so  many  shadows  to  lier.  The}'  spoke  French  and 
English,  but  she  never  distinguished  one  word  they  said. 
She  was  going  to  Paris  to  find  Leon  and  ask  him  if  there 
was  any  truth  in  the  cruel  story. 

Then  she  stands  alone  in  the  great  crowded  railway 
station.  No  child  could  be  more  helpless,  more  inexperi- 
enced. In  her  highly  strung  nervous  state  she  fancied 
the  roar  of  the  steam  was  the  sound  of  falling  water, 
Allan  Water.  She  stood  amongst  the  crowd,  her  color- 
less face  and  motionless  fi^nre  attracting  no  little  atten- 


?60  THE  BELLE   OF  LTWH. 

tion,  but  ehe  had  not  the  least  idea  where  to  go  or  what 
to  do.  Once  more  the  good  Samaritan  came  to  her,  and 
she  raised  her  poor  dazed  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  Have  you  no  one  to  meet  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  as  though  his  question  had  sur- 
prised her  into  sudden  life,  "no  one." 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  he 
aaked.  "  You  want  to  go  somewhere.  You  cannot  stand 
here  in  this  crowd,  you  look  dazed  and  ill.  Child,  you 
remind  me  of  one  of  my  own  daughters  at  home.  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "  You  might  per- 
haps tell  me  one  thing.  If  you  came  a  stranger  here  to 
Paris,  and  you  wanted  to  find  one  person  living  here, 
what  should  you  do  ?  " 

"  You  want  to  find  some  one,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  Have 
you  no  address  ? " 

"  No,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  your  best  plan  will  be  to  go  to  a  bookseller's 
shop,  and  ask  to  see  a  directory  of  Paris ;  you  will  be 
sure  to  find  name  and  address  there." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  simplv. 

"I  advise  you,"  he  continued,  "to  go  to  some  hotel 
close  to  hand  here  and  rest  some  hours.  You  look  ill 
and  tired,  as  though  you  wanted  rest." 

He  raised  his  hat,  and  was  leaving  her  with  a  profound 
bow,  when  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  ought 
to  thank  you — I  do  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  did 
not  know  what  to  do,  and  now  I  shall  be  all  right" 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  been  of  service  to  you.  You  see 
that  you  are  near  to  the  Hotel  du  Chemin  de  Fer  dii 
Nord.    You  will  be  most  comfortable  there.     Good-bye." 

Soon  afterward  she  was  in  one  of  the  best  rooms  of 
the  large  hotel,  and  then  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
reached  the  crisis.  She  must  wait  for  the  full  light  and 
sunshine  of  the  day  before  she  could  go  in  search  of  Leon. 


THE  BELLS   OF  LTNM.  261 


CHAPTER  UL 


Nevbb  was  man  so  unhappy  as  the  Count  de  Soldana, 
never  was  man  in  so  terrible  a  dilemma ;  never  was  man 
£o  tempted,  first  one  way,  then  another ;  he  could  not  rest 
or  sleep,  nothing  gave  him  pleasure,  nothing  interested 
him ;  the  only  time  he  forgot  himself  and  his  cares  was 
when  he  was  teie-k-tete  with  Princess  Helene  —  then  she 
charmed  all  care  away.  He  tried  to  make  himself  be- 
lieve when  he  was  under  her  influence  that  he  was  doing 
the  right  thing,  and  that,  even  if  he  loved  Lima  more 
than  he  did,  he  was  bound  to  sacrifice  her  and  carry  out 
the  course  his  mother  had  laid  down  for  him. 

Every  hour  that  he  remained  in  France  bound  him 
more  closely  to  his  country,  his  home,  and  his  friends ; 
every  hour  that  passed  made  him  dislike  more  than  ever 
the  idea  of  returning  to  England,  poverty,  and  exile. 

If  she  had  been  less  fair,  less  gentle,  less  loving,  he 
would  not  have  felt  it  so  keenly,  and  disguise  it  as  he 
would,  he  did  feel  keenly ;  every  moment  of  his  mother's 
absence  his  thoughts  followed  her.  How  would  Lima 
bear  it  ?     What  would  she  do  or  say  ? 

He  never  dreamed  that  she  would  come  to  him.  If,  in 
his  fancy,  he  saw  her  acquiesce  in  his  mother's  plans  — 
relinquish  him,  take  the  income  his  mother  offered  her, 
mtike  a  new  home  and  a  new  life  for  herself,  then  his 
heart  grew  heavy  and  sad,  and  he  felt  that  he  eould  do 
anything  rather  than  lose  her;  if,  in  his  fancy,  he  saw  her 
rysisting  his  mother,  refusing  to  comply  with  her  arrange- 
ments, refusing  to  give  him  up,  resolving  upon  making  a 
claim  for  her  rights,  then  he  grew  disturbed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  losing  the  magnificent  future  that  lay  before  him. 

"  Was  there  ever,"  he  asked  himself,  "  a  man  so  tossed 
in  donbt,  so  weak  of  mind  and  purpose,  so  easily  influ- 
enced, so  easily  led  ?  " 

There  were  times  when  he  scorned  and  loathed  himself. 
It  was  the  morning  of  the  day  after  his  mother  had  left ; 
he  knew  that  she  had^  by  this  time,  fulfilled  her  miaeion  ; 


262  THE  HBLLK   OF   LTN'JJ 

she  had  spent  the  night  in  the  old  house  he  had  loved  so 
well  once ;  by  this  time  Lima  knew  that  the  marriage 
between  them  was  null  and  void ;  that  although  she  was 
his  wife  in  England,  she  never  could  be  his  wife  in 
France.  He  little  dreamed  that  she  was,  even  then,  on 
her  way  to  him ;  he  thought  it  possible  that,  in  her  sorrow 
and  her  anger,  she  might  go  home  to  her  father's  house  ; 
but  he  never,  for  one  moment,  dreamed  that  she  would 
go  to  him. 

He  wished  that  he  had  asked  his  mother  to  telegraph 
to  him.  He  could  not  possibly  hear  from  her  that  day 
by  letter,  he  knew,  and  the  day  would  be  one  of  terrible 
suspense  to  him.  He  decided  to  spend  some  part  of  it 
with  Princess  Helene ;  she  would  cheer  and  amuse  him 
at  least. 

He  found  her  highly  excited  and  delighted  at  the  idea 
of  a  grand  masquerade  to  which  she  was  going,  a  mas- 
querade given  by  Mme.  de  Lisle,  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
leaders  of  Parisian  society. 

"  You  will  go,  Leon,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  not  enjoy  it 
if  you  do  not,  and  I  know  you  have  an  invitation." 

He  did  not  feel  much  inclined  for  a  masquerade,  but 
this  fair  princess  of  his  was  somewhat  peremptory. 

"  What  is  your  costume  ? "  he  asked. 

Princess  Helene  laughed. 

"  The  most  picturesque  I  could  find,"  she  answered. 
"  I  am  going  as  the  wife  of  an  Albanian  chief,  and  my 
costume  will  be  complete.  I  have  even  ordered  a  beauti- 
ful little  dagger  with  a  jewelled  hilt." 

"  Rather  a  dangerous  toy,"  he  said,  carelessly. 

"Not  in  my  hands,"  said  Princess  Helene.  "Will 
you  go,  Leon  ? "  she  added. 

"  Is  it  to-morrow  evening  ? "  he  asked,  little  dreaming 
what  the  morrow  evening  would  bring  forth  for  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  You  should  go  as  an  Albanian 
chief,  Leon.  It  is  a  most  picturesque  costume,  and  it 
•would  just  suit  your  superb  style.  I  should  like  to  see 
you." 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  he  replied,  languidly.  "  I 
should  imagine  that  if  it  be  known  you  are  going  aa  ft 
chief taiuess  there  will  be  m&nj  chieftains." 


THE   BELLB  OP  LTNH. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  musical 
lano^h. 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  should  know  his  fate  by  to- 
morrow evening ;  he  should  know  what  was  to  become  of 
Lima,  and  with  his  mind  at  ease  he  could  bett^  endure 
the  masquerade. 

Princess  Helene  was  delighted  with  his  ready  acquies- 
cence ;  he  was  growing  fonder  of  her,  that  was  clear, 
and  under  the  influence  of  that  belief  she  grew  more 
loving  and  more  bewitching  in  her  manner  to  nim. 

He  forgot  his  cares  for  a  time ;  he  forgot  everything 
except  the  beautiful  girl  who  was  as  clever  as  she  was 
beautiful ;  she  had  the  happy  and  most  rare  faculty  of 
making  the  hours  pass  like  minutes,  as  they  did  to  him 
now. 

Mme.  Vesey  pressed  him  to  remain  to  dine  with  them 
and  stay  for  the  evening  ;  some  friends  were  coming,  and 
she  knew  that  he  would  be  well  amused. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  am  well  amused 
here  always,"  he  said.  "  How  could  I  be  anything 
else?"  . 

The  evening  did  pass  most  pleasantly,  and  when  it  was 
ended  Princess  Helene  was  more  passionatly  in  love  than 
ever  with  him. 

"  I  am  the  happiest  girl  in  the  whole  wide  world,"  she 
said,  "  for  I  am  going  to  marry  the  man  I  love  and  who 
loves  me,"  she  said  to  Mme.  Yesey.  "  I  wonder  when  I 
look  round  on  the  fate  of  other  girls  who  marry  without 
love,  I  wonder  what  I  have  done  that  I  should  be  so 
fortunate." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  happy,"  said  madame,  gravely. 
Love  and  passion  always  frightened  her. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  when  the  young  Cointe 
de  Sold  an  a  reached  home  ;  he  had  walked  for  some  long 
time,  knowing  well  the  only  thing  that  could  make  him 
sleep  was  great  fatigue. 

If  he  had  known  that  Lima  was  even  then  in  Paris  his 
rest  would  have  been  more  broken  still. 

So  little  did  he  dream  what  the  day  held !  There  was 
no  letter  from  his  mother ;  his  only  resource  was  to  go, 
as  he  had  done  before,  to  Princess  Helene. 


264  THE   BELLE   OK   LYNN. 

"  It  is  in  Madatne's  boudoir,  Leon,"  she  cried ;  "  come 
and  see  it." 

"  Madame's  boudoir "  was  by  no  means  especially  re- 
served for  herself.  It  was  used  for  visitors,  and  Princess 
flelene  preferred  it  to  any  other  apartment  in  tlie  man- 
sion. The  view  from  the  window  over  the  bright 
Champs  Elysees  was  simply  charming ;  winter  though  it 
was,  the  room  was  filled  with  fairest  flowers,  and  their 
sweet  perfume  filled  the  air. 

All  the  rich  and  beautiful  fabrics  of  the  costumes  were 
lying  there,  and  Princess  Helene,  usually  too  proud  to 
think  much  of  dress,  was  delighted  to  draw  the  young 
count's  attention  to  the  picturesque  attire,  which  so  per- 
fectly suited  her  picturesque  beauty. 

"  And  here,"  she  said,  "  is  a  triumph  of  art.  You  see 
the  place  in  this  exquisite  crimson  scarf  for  this  dagger, 
that  is  how  they  are  worn  —  but  did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing so  beautiful  ? " 

He  took  the  little  dagger  from  her  hand  to  examine  it. 
It  was  made  of  polished  silver,  the  blade  thin  and  sharp, 
the  handle  richly  jewelled. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  wear  such  a  thing,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  It  looks  to  me  much  more  like  death 
than  play." 

Princess  Helene  was  amused. 

"  What  a  disagreeable  word  to  use  about  my  dagger, 
and,  excuse  me,  what  nonsense.  Many  of  the  ladies  of 
olden  days  carried  daggers." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  they  made  little  use  of  them,"  he 
replied. 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"  Leon,  you  do  not  like  my  costume,"  she  said. 

"  I  do,  all  but  the  dagger,"  he  answered.  "  I  cannot 
tell  why,  but  it  has  given  me  a  shock.  Pretty  as  it  is, 
and  richly  jewelled,  I  cannot  think  of  it  as  a  plaything." 

"  My  costume  would  not  be  complete  without  it,"  she 
said,  '*  or  I  would  not  wear  it.  I  have  lost  all  pleasure 
in  it  now.     I  will  think  about  it." 

She  laid  the  little  dagger  down  on  the  table,  amidst  the 
flowers  and  laces,  and  there  she  left  it. 

Mme.  Yesej  came  to  say  that,  as  the  day  was  so  fine. 


THE  BELLE   OF   LYNN.  '    265 

they  would  all  enjoy  a  drive.  The  young  count  cried  out 
that  if  Princess  Helene  approved,  it  was  the  very  thing 
that  he  should  like.  It  would  pass  away  the  tedious 
hours  of  that  tedious  day,  he  thought. 

He  followed  madame  and  Princess  Helene  into  the 
carriage  just  as  Lima,  following  the  advice  given  to  her, 
had  gone  into  a  stationer's  shop  and  asked  for  a  directory 
of  Paris.  The  keeper  of  the  shop,  struck  by  her  beautiful 
face,  assisted  her.  It  was  not  long  before  she  found  out 
where  the  Hotel  d'Or  was. 

"  How  shall  I  get  there?  '  she  asked.  "  I  have  never 
travelled — never  been  in  big  cities  before." 

"  Have  you  no  one  with  you  to  take  care  of  yon  ? "  ho 
asked. 

"  No,  I  am  quite  alone,  I  have  a  relative  living  at  the 
Hotel  d'Or." 

She  longed  to  say  "  My  husband  lives  there,"  but  she 
remembered  the  words  of  madame  —  "A  wife  in  Eng- 
land, but  no  wife  in  France." 

"  You  will  be  all  right,  then,  when  you  reach  the  Hotel 
d'Or.  If  I  may  be  allowed  to  express  an  opinion,  it  is 
not  safe  for  a  girl  so  young  and  so  fair  to  be  alone  in  the 
streets  of  Paris.  The  safest  thing  for  you  is  to  take  a 
carriage,  and  drive  to  the  Hotel  d'Or.  I  will  send  for 
one  for  you,  and  see  you  safely  in  it." 

She  thanked  him  and  for  many  a  long  day  afterward 
the  shop-keeper  thought  of  that  beautiful  face  which  he 
never  saw  again,  and  wondered  what  was  the  history  of 
that  lonely,  lovely  girL 


266  THX  BEIXB  OF  LTHH. 


CHAPTER  Lin. 

Thb  yonng  count  remained  after  the  drive  to  take 
Inncheon  wim  Mme.  Vesey  and  Princess  Helene.  IJe 
felt  better;  the  fresh,  cold  air,  the  brilliant  sunshine,  the 
conversation,  so  witty  and  piquant,  all  combined,  had 
brightened  his  spirits.  Then  Princess  Helene  loved  him 
so;  like  most  very  proud  women,  when  she  did  con- 
descend to  love  any  one,  her  love  had  neither  limit  nor 
bounds.  Just  as  sne  was  proud  and  reticent  with  others, 
she  was  loving  and  gentle  with  him.  She,  who  ruled 
others  imperiously,  yielded  to  his  least  wish ;  she,  who 
would  have  borne  herself  proudly  even  in  the  presence 
of  crowned  kings,  was  all  tnat  was  humble  and  graceful 
to  him.  She  had  but  one  thonght,  and  it  was  to  make  him 
love  her  more  and  more.  She  said  to  herself  that  she 
would  never  rest  until  she  had  his  whole  heart  in  her 
keepdng.  To  attain  that  end  she  made  herself  more 
charming,  and  by  the  time  the  drive  was  ended  he 
thought  much  more  of  her  and  more  kindly  than  when  it 
began ;  he  was  nearer  being  in  love  with  her  than  he  had 
ever  been.  He  said  to  himself  as  he  hastened  home,  that 
he  hoped  there  was  news  from  his  mother  and  that  she 
had  been  able  to  make  suitable  arrangements  with  Lima. 
It  was  the  first  time  that,  even  to  his  own  heart,  he  had 
expressed  or  allowed  such  a  wish 

The  good-bye  after  luncheon  was  over  had  been  de- 
lightful. 

"  We  have  quite  fallen  into  the  English  practice  oi 
shaking  hands,  said  Princess  Helene,  as  she  held  out 
to  him  a  beautiful  hand,  white  and  jewelled,  with  slender 
fingers  and  pink,  pretty  palm. 

"  It  is  a  most  delightful  fashion,"  he  answered,  holding 
that  lovely  white  hand  in  his,  and  then  he  kissed  it,  and 
over  that  proud,  beautiful  face  came  such  a  look  of 
delight  that  he  relinquished  the  hand,  and  bending  down, 
kissed  the  exquisite  lips ;  then,  he  could  hardly  remember 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  i67 

how  it  happened,  he  folded  his  arms  round  her,  and  drew 
her  to  his  breast. 

"  My  love,  my  love !  "  he  heard  her  murmur,  and  then 
he  knew  that  he  had  won  her  heart  for  evermore. 

"  I  shall  not  have  made  such  a  terrible  failure  after 
all,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  able  to  make  this  one  woman 
perfectly  happy." 

He  would  have  given  anything  in  that  hour  never  to 
have  seen  the  banks  of  Allan  "Water  or  the  fair  face  that 
had  shone  on  him  there. 

It  was  nearly  four  in  the  afternoon  when  he  reached 
the  Hotel  d'Or.  His  first  and  most  eager  question  was 
whether  any  telegrams  had  arrived.  The  answer  was 
"  No."  "Were  there  any  letters  from  England  ?  Quick, 
bring  in  the  salver  on  which  they  lay!  No  English 
letters ;  and  for  a  few  moments  his  heart  ached  horribly 
with  the  dissapointment ;  then  he  reassured  himself  by 
thinking  it  would  all  come  right  on  the  morrow;  his 
mother  would  probably  return  then,  and  he  must  live 
through  the  suspense  as  well  as  he  could.  He  should  not 
be  alone,  for  Mrae.  Vesey  had  asked  him  to  return  and 
to  dine  with  them.  Then  he  saw  the  footman  looking  at 
him  with  a  strange  glance. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he  said,  "  a  lady  is  here  and 
wishes  to  see  you." 

"  A  lady,"  he  repeated,  "  to  see  me  ?  Did  you  say 
that  Madame  le  Comtesse  was  not  at  home  ? " 

"  The  lady  did  not  ask  for  her,  monsieur ;  only  for 
you." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  asked,  indifferently ;  he  gave  but 
a  passing  thought  as  to  whom  it  might  be ;  some  one  on 
business  or  on  a  charitable  round. 

The  lady  was  in  the  white  saloon,  a  magnificent  room, 
so  called  because  the  carpet  was  of  white  velvet  pile,  and 
the  hangings  of  white  velvet  looped  with  golden  tassels 
and  fringe. 

It  was  tiresome  enough  to  have  a  lady  calling  upon 
him,  but  she  would  not  remain  long ;  he  should  soon  be 
back  with  Princess  Helene. 

He  opened  the  door  slowly,  without  the  faintest 
thought  or  least  suspicion  ^  i^  who  was  there. 


268  THE  BELLE  OF  LTlSTir. 

A  tall  figure  rose  as  he  entered ;  he  bowed,  and  the 
next  moment  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Lima, 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  he  cried,  and  she,  looking  with 
grave  sweet  eyes  in  his  face,  said,  "  Leon,  I  have  come 
to  see  you,  since  you  would  not  return  to  me." 

They  did  not  meet  as  lovers,  or  as  husband  and  wife ; 
both  faces  had  grown  white,  and  the  man's  strong  figure 
trembled. 

"  Have  you  no  welcome  for  me,  my  husband  ? "  she 
asked,  and  he  winced  at  the  sound  of  the  word,  "  have 
you  no  welcome  when  1  have  come  so  far?  Let  me  look 
at  you,  Leon.  Ah,  Heaven !  you  are  not  the  same. 
Have  you  no  smiles,  no  kisses,  no  kind  words ;  have  you 
nothing  to  say  to  me  ?  You  have  no  love,  no  light  of 
welcome  in  your  eyes,  you  have  no  word  on  your  lips. 
Oh,  Leon,  what  has  come  to  you  —  you  loved  me  so 
dearly  once ;  do  you  remember  ?  and  now —  " 

The  torrent  of  passionate  words  ceased  abruptly,  and 
she  stood  before  him  white  and  trembling,  her  eyes  filled 
with  burning  fire. 

He  spoke  slowly : 

"  You  have  taken  me  so  completely  by  surprise,  Lima, 
I  hardly  know  what  to  say." 

Her  eyes  seemed  to  flash  with  hot  indignation  into  his. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  to  say  ?  You  have  been  away 
from  me  a  year.  You  loved  me  when  you  left  me,  and 
now  you  are  taken  by  surprise  and  do  not  know  what  to 
say.  Better  kill  me  at  once  than  use  such  words  to  me. 
It  seems  to  me  hardly  possible  that  you  can  be  my  Leon, 
or  that  I  can  be  your  wife.  You  do  not  know  what  to 
say  to  me ;  it  is  the  first  time — my  love !  my  love ! —  that 
words  have  failed  you.  You  had  plenty,  and  they  were 
loving  enough,  on  the  banks  of  Allan  Water.  You  do 
not  know  what  to  say  to  me.  Oh,  Leon,  Leon !  why  did 
you  not  open  your  arms  to  me  when  you  first  saw  me  and 
cry  out  to  me,  '  My  wife,  my  darling,  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  ? '  " 

She  drew  nearer  to  him,  and  looked  with  despairing 
•yea  in  his  face. 

"  You  have  ceased  to  love  me,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
Heaven,  let  me  die  1    There  is  no  love  left  for  me  ia. 


THE  BELLE   OF  LTKN.  269 

yonr  eyes,  Leon ;  none  in  jour  face ;  your  hands  havs 
no  warm  clasp  left  for  me ;  your  heart  has  gone  from 
me.     Let  me  die !  " 

"  Lima,"  he  cried,  "  it  is  not  so,  but  you  know  —  you 
have  heard  —  what  stands  between  us." 

"Nothing  can  stand  between  us,"  she  answered. 
"  God  hath  joined  us  —  no  man,  no  law,  can  put  us 
asunder." 

"  I  would  that  it  were  so,"  he  said.  "  You  have  seen 
my  mother,  Lima  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  she  has  told  you  all  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  has  told  me  all,  and  I  have  refused  to  believe 
the  story  from  any  lips  but  yours,"  she  replied. 

"  It  ^s  true,  Lima,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"  How  much  of  it  is  true  ?  "  she  asked,  and  the  change 
from  loving  humility  to  passionate  scorn  shocked  him. 

"  What  of  it  is  true  ?  "  she  continued.  "  Is  it  true 
that  the  wealth  and  honors  of  your  ancestors  have  all 
been  given  back  to  you  ?  " 

"  All,  and  more,"  he  answered. 

"  Is  it  true  that  your  marriage  with  me  is  invalid,  that 
by  some  cruel  law  I  am  your  wife  in  England,  but  not  in 
France  ? " 

"  It  is  perfectly  true,"  he  repeated. 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  intend  to  abide  by  this  infamous 
law?  That,  after  marrying  me  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  my  own  native  land,  and  in  the  presence  of 
Heaven  —  remember  that !  —  is  it  true  that  you  intend  to 
set  that  marriage  aside  as  null  and  void  ?  " 

"  What  can  I  do,  Lima  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Try  to  realize 
the  position ;  I  did  not  seek  it.  When  I  married  you,  I 
had  no  idea  that  such  a  law  was  in  existence." 

"  Why  need  you  think  of  it  now  ? "  she  asked. 

"  You  do  not  realize  it,  Lima,"  he  replied.  "  In- 
deed, it  was  some  time  before  I  realized  it  myself.  You 
are  my  wife  in  England ;  here,  in  France,  a  marriage  with 
you  could  never  take  place,  because  my  mother  refuses 
her  sanction ;  railing  against  the  law  is  useless,  because  it 
stands,  and  we  must  abide  by  it." 

"  Come  back  to  England,  then,  and  live  there ;  we  wer^ 


270  THE  BBLLI   OF   LTWir. 

happy  enough  —  come  back,  Leon.  It  says  in  the  good 
old  Book  which  gave  the  first  laws,  that  '  a  man  must 
forsake  all  and  cleave  unto  his  wife.'  Can  any  law  that 
men  may  make  undo  that  ?  Come  back  to  England  ;  we 
were  happy ;  yon  loved  me  there  ;  you  said  I  made  your 
happiness.     Come  back,  and  let  us  be  happy  again." 

"  Do  you  know,  Lima,"  he  asked,  coldly,  "  all  that  if 
would  cost  me  to  go  back  with  you  and  live  in  Eng- 
land ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  replied,  "  nor  does  it  matter." 

"  It  matters  greatly  to  me,"  said  the  Count  de  Soldana- 

"  What  is  the  cost  ? "  she  asked. 

"  First  and  foremost,  France.  I  should  have  to  giva 
np  all  thoughts  of  my  native  land.  If  I  lived  here  you 
would  not  be  my  wife,  and  nothing  could  legalize  the  tie 
between  us.  No  children  of  yours  could  succeed  me; 
the  estate  and  title  and  all  the  honors  would  lapse  upon 
the  Soldanas.  Do  you  see,  Lima  —  it  means  France, 
wealth,  honors,  title,  without  you ;  or  England,  exile,  and 
poverty  with  you." 

"  I  see  —  I  understand,"  she  replied.  "  Do  you  hesitate 
between  the  two  ?    Answer  me,  Leon." 

"  I  do  hesitate,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "  I  love  you. 
I  acknowledge  the  sanctity  of  the  tie  that  binds  us  to- 

fther,  although  it  is  not  a  legal  one.  I  do  hesitate,  for 
love  France,  I  love  my  race,  my  lands,  my  honors,  all 
of  which  I  must  lose  if  I  go  back  to  England  with  you." 

Her  face  was  as  white  as  that  of  a  dead  woman  as  she 
drew  nearer  to  him,  and  the  light  that  burned  in  her  eyes 
was  terrible  to  see. 

"  You  have  to  choose  between  France  and  me ;  you 
choose  France  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  help  it  ?  "  he  replied. 

"  Answer  me  —  yes  or  no.  You  choose  France  and 
wealth — not  me?" 

"  I  choose  France,"  he  said ;  "  there  is  no  alternative. 
You  must  see  for  yourself,  Lima,  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  And  you  give  me  up  ?  "  she  continued.  "  You  are 
content  to  see  what  is  in  my  own  land  an  honorable 
marriage  set  aside  ?  " 

"I  cajmot  help  it,"  he  answered  her."    "  Never  was 


'THTS  BELLS  OP  LTNW.  271 

man  in  so  cmel  a  dilemma  before ;  my  very  heart  is  torn 
and  divided,  Lima." 

"  And   I,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  once  thonght  that  the 
vhole  of  it  was  mine." 


CHAPTER  Liy. 

"I  LOTE  yon,  Lima!"  cried  the  Connt  de  Soldana, 
^*  So  long  as  life  lasts  I  shall  love  no  other  woman  but 
you." 

"  Then,  if  you  love  me,  be  true  to  me,  Leon  ;  give  up 
everything  else  and  come  back  to  England  with  me. 
I  will  make  you  as  happy  as  you  were  before." 

He  was  silent  for  some  few  minutes,  then  he  said, 
slowly :  "  Lima,  I  have  not  tlie  courage,  I  confess  to  yon, 
frankly,  I  have  not  the  courage  to  do  it.  I  do  not  think 
that  any  man  living  could  give  up  so  much  for  love.  If 
I  had  never  known  this  life — its  ease,  pleasures,  luxuries, 
and  its  high  ambitions,  I  might  have  lived  and  died  con- 
tent in  exile  and  poverty ;  but,  having  known  this  I 
candidly  confess  I  could  not  go  back  to  the  other." 

"  Not  even  with  me  ? "  she  said,  softly. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  although  it  sounds  selfish  and 
cruel,  not  even  with  you,  Lima.  I  do  not  believe  that 
any  man  living  would  give  up  so  much  for  a  woman's 
love." 

"  /  would  have  given  up  far  more  for  love  of  you,"  she 
said. 

"  Love  is  a  woman's  life,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  is  but  one 
phase  of  a  man's  existence." 

"  And  with  you,  Leon,  that  phase  is  past  ?  "  she  said, 
sadly. 

"  My  dear  Lima,  that  is  a  terrible  question  for  yon  to 
ask,  and  equally  terrible  for  me  to  an?wer.  Still,  it  is 
better  that  I  should  answer  it.  Yes,  that  phase  is  past 
for  me,  I  could  not  now  sacrifice  every  hope  in  life  for 
love,  it  would  not  content  me.  Do  not  misunderstand 
me,"  he  continued,  eagerly.  "  I  regret  with  passionate 
sorrow  this  has  happened.  I  should  be  the  happiest  man 
in  the  world  if  I  could  take  you  to  my  home  and  my 


272  THB  BELLB   OF  LTNlf. 

heart,  if  I  conld  share  all  I  have  with  yon,  if  I  conld 
proclaim  yon  as  my  wife  to  the  whole  world  ;  bnt  the 
law  is  against  me,  I  cannot  do  it.  There  is  no  way  bj 
which  I  can  make  you  my  wife  legally  in  France  except 
by  my  mother's  consent,  and  that  she  will  never  gire 
—  she  triumphs  in  withholding  it.  As  I  cannot  do  what 
I  fain  would,  I  must  do  what  is  best  for  the  good  of  my 
race. 

"  And  I  must  be  sacrificed,"  she  said,  slowly. 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  Lima  ?    I  would   never  fiave 

fjiven  you  up  of  my  own  accord ;  I  would  never  have 
eft  you;  I  would  never  have  caused  you  one  minute's 
sorrow  or  pain.  It  is  not  I  who  do  it ;  it  is  the  law,  a 
cruel,  unjust,  wicked  law,  if  you  will,  but  still  the  law, 
and  I  cannot  control  it.     If  I  could,  I  would." 

"  And  this  same  law  which  separates  you  from  your 
lavtrf ul  wife  permits  you  to  marry  another,"  she  said. 

"  This  same  law  does  not  admit  that  I  am  a  married 
man  at  all ;  it  refuses  to  acknowledge  my  marriage —  " 

"  Leon,"  she  interrupted,  "  does  not  the  old  love  plead 
forme?" 

"  It  does,  and  the  present  love  pleads  for  you  also ;  but 
what  can  I  do,  Lima  ?    There  is  no  help  for  me." 

"  You  will  not  give  all  up  and  return  with  me  ? " 

"  /  cannot^'*  he  answered. 

"  You  will  let  me,  whom  you  have  loved  so  much,  paas 
out  of  your  life,  and  know  me  no  more  ? " 

His  face  had  grown  deadly  pale,  and  his  lips  quivered 
with  pain,  still  he  answered  : 

"  It  must  be  so,  Lima." 

She  was  silent  for  some  five  minutes,  then  she  said, 
hurriedly : 

"  Your  mother,  who  spared  me  no  pain  and  no  insult, 
who  seemed  to  think  that  I  belonged  to  a  class  entirely 
without  feeling,  told  me  that  you  were  going  to  marry 
some  one  in  your  own  class  of  life ;  the  most  beautiful 
girl  and  the  wealthiest  heiress  in  France.  I,  your  wife, 
according  to  the  law  of  England  and  the  law  of  Heaven, 
askyou,  is  it  true  ? " 

Bus  face  grew  crimson  with  shame,  his  eyes  dim  with 
the  sense  of  nis  own  un worthiness. 


TBB  BELLE  OF  LYHM.  273 

"  Is  it  true  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"It  has  been  thought  best  that  I  should  do  so,"  he 
replied.  "  A  man  in  my  position  —  the  head  of  a  great 
ra?e,  of  a  great  house  —  must  marry.  I  must  have  a 
beautiful  wife ;  I  must  have  children  to  succeed  me." 

'  Answer  my  question,  '  Yes '  or  '  No,'  "  she  said. 
"  Are  you  going  to  marry  that  lady  of  whom  your  mothei 
spolre?     'Yes'  or  'No'?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  and  if  with  his  own  hand  he  had 
taken  a  dagger  and  plunged  it  into  her  heart,  she  could 
not  have  shrunk  back  from  him  more  scared  and  trem' 
bling. 

"What  shall  I  be  if  you  marry  her?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  could  never  be  my  wife  in  France." 

Then  the  whole  passion  of  Lima's  nature,  never  aroused 
in  her  life  before,  was  aroused  at  last. 

A  rich  color  rushed  to  her  delicate  face ;  her  eyes 
grew  bright ;  her  lost  beauty  seemed  to  return  in  re- 
doubled force. 

"  It  shall  not  be !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  will  prevent  it.  You 
are  mine — my  own  husband.  I  claim  you  before  Heaven 
and  man  I  No  other  woman  shall  have  you !  You  are 
mine  by  every  right  —  by  right  of  my  great  love  for  you, 
by  right  of  your  love  for  me,  by  right  of  a  legal  and 
religious  ceremony.  /  am  your  wife  —  you  shall  have 
none  other!  I  appeal,"  she  continued,  passionately,  "to 
Heaven  itself  against  you !  I  appeal  to  all  honorable 
men  !  I  appeal  to  the  whole  wide  world !  I  say  that  it 
shall  not  be  !  " 

He  cowered  under  that  torrent  of  passionate  words  — 
he  shrunk  from  the  fire  in  those  eyes. 

"  I  will  reproach  you  no  more,  I  will  plead  to  you  no 
more.  /  will  defy  you.  I  claim  my  rights,  my  share  in 
your  name,  in  your  title,  in  your  wealth,  in  your  honors, 
in  your  heart,  and  in  your  love.  You  cannot — you  dare 
not — deny  my  claim." 

"  /  do  not — the  law  does,"  he  answered. 

"  A  paltry,  miserable  pnbterfuge,"  she  cried,  "behind 
which  you  hide  yourself  to  do  a  dishonorable  deed.  I 
defy  the  law,  even  as  I  defy  you.  I  will  fight  it  to  the 
bitter  *»nd.     You  shall  pat aoother  woman  in  my  place. 


274  THE  BELLB  OF   LYNN. 

You  shall  take  no  other  woman  in  your  arms  and  call  her 
wife.  You  shall  kiss  no  other  woman's  face  and  say  thai 
you  love  her.  I,  Lima,  your  true  and  lawful  wife,  swear 
that  this  shall  never  be  done." 

"  Oh,  Lima ! "  he  sighed,  "  if  I  could  but  make  yam 
understand. " 

"  I  know  enough,"  she  cried,  haughtily.  "  I  am  poor 
and  lowly  born.  I  belong  to  a  class  which,  according  fx> 
'•  your  mother's  ideas,  can  be  trampled  under-foot,  a  class 
uliich  has  no  rights,  no  claims,  no  feeling.  What  will 
iny  blighted  life  and  broken  heart  matter  to  any  of  you  ? 
W  ho  will  care  that  I  spend  the  rest  of  it  under  the  black- 
est shadow  of  shame,  betrayed  and  deserted — who  cares  ? 
But  it  shall  not  be.  I  appeal  to  Heaven  against  it.  I 
will  defend,  and  shield,  and  protect  myself,  since  there  is 
no  one  to  do  it  for  me." 

She  had  never  looked  so  beautiful  as  she  did  in  this 
hour  of  passionate  defiance  and  pain.  He  could  not 
answer  her,  he  had  no  words  to  say. 

"  You  think,"  she  continued,  "  that  because  I  am  of 
lowly  birth,  '  only  a  miller's  daughter,'  that  I  can  be 
trampled  on,  hidden,  thrust  out  of  the  way,  while  you 
jnarry  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  France.  Oh!  God  of 
Justice,  I  cry  to  you  1  I  cry  to  you !  And  this  is  what 
your  love  has  brought  me,"  she  cried.  "  For  you  I  left 
home,  mother  and  father;  you  repay  me  by  deserting 
me.  My  father's  words  have  come  true:  the  curse  of 
the  disobedient  has  followed  me,  and  will  cling  to  me 
wherever  I  go." 

She  wrung  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  paesionate 
despair. 

"  I  will  appeal  to  the  whole  wide  world  against  you," 
she  continued.  "  Your  mother  thinks  and  you  think  that 
because  I  am  of  lowly  birth  I  am  easily  crushed,  easily 
hidden  out  of  si^ht,  that  for  paltry  money  I  shall  consent 
to  forego  my  claim.  I  will  not,  1  will  fight  for  it  until  I 
die,  and  the  whole  world  shall  hear  of  it.  It  shall  be  no 
secret  bought  and  paid  for.  li  you  persist  in  it  you  shall 
know  what  you  are  doing.  So  shall  she,  the  partner  of 
your  crime  —  for  it  is  a  crime.  Since  I  have  been  here 
ju  Pari^  I  know  her  name — ^Helene  de  SaisoB,    J  know 


THE   BELLE   OF   LYNN.  275 

even  your  name  for  her — Princess  Helene.  I  shall  go  to 
her ;  I  shall  tell  her  the  whole  of  ray  love-story ;  I  shall 
tell  her  of  your  love,  your  wooing,  and  of  our  marriage. 
Then  when  she  knows  thut  I  ara  your  lawful  wife — when 
she  knows  that  I  have  had  the  best  love  of  your  heart 
and  you  of  mine,  she  will  refuse  you  and  send  you  back 
to  me.  If  she  be  a  true  woman  worthy  of  love  she 
"^vill  spurn  you.     I  shall  go  to  her  and  tell  her  all." 

"  Lima,  be  reasonable,"  he  cried  out,  in  an  agony  of 
^ear. 

"  I  have  been  reasonable,  patient,  submissive,  and 
supine  long  enough.  I  will  be  so  no  longer ;  I  will  fight 
it  out.  I  have  no  money,  few  friends ;  but  I  have  a  will. 
If  I  have  to  appeal  to  the  emperor  himself,  it  shall  be 
done." 

The  very  thought  almost  stopped  the  beating  of  his 
heart.  That  would  be  the  most  complete,  black,  bitter 
thing  that  could  befall  him. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you  ? "  he  cried.  "  There  is  so 
much  truth  and  reason  in  what  you  say  —  you  have  so 
much  right  on  your  side.  I  ara  so  heartily  ashamed  of  it 
all,  and  yet  I  could  not  go  back  to  poverty  and  exile." 

"  Then  you  must  be  prepared  to  take  the  conse- 
quences," she  said,  and  without  another  word  she  left 
him.  She  did  not  wait  to  say  good-by ;  she  had  borne  as 
much  as  she  could  bear.  She  would  have  gone  mad  or 
died  if  she  had  remained  there. 

The  probability  is  that  she  did  go  mad  then  and  there, 
that  she  lost  the  balance  of  brain  and  reason  never  to 
regain  it.  She  rushed  from  his  presence,  her  eyes  could 
look  no  longer  on  the  handsome  face  of  the  man  whom 
she  loved  with  all  her  heart,  but  who  was  going  to  sacri- 
fice her.  She  went  away  so  quickly  that  he  had  no  time 
to  see  in  what  direction  she  fled.  She  was  gone  even 
before  he  had  time  to  recover  himself. 

If  he  had  known,  he  would  have  followed  her — but 
he  did  not  knov7. 


i76  THB  BELLE  OI*  LTNN. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

Prdxokss  Helens  sat  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  going 
over  in  thought  every  word  her  lover  had  said  to  her, 
every  caress  he  had  given  her,  happier  than  words  can 
tell,  happier  than  she  nad  ever  dreamed  of  being. 

She  never  even  gave  a  thought  to  the  fact  that  her 
happiness  was  purchased  by  the  misery  of  another.  At 
the  time  of  a  great  famine  in  France,  a  princess  expressed 
her  wonder  that  people  should  starve,  and  when  told  that 
they  could  not  buy  bread,  she  said,  "  Why  can  they  not 
live  on  buns  ?  "  Princess  Helene  had  ideas  just  as  vague 
about  people  of  the  class  beneath  her. 

She  never  thought  of  them  as  loving,  suffering,  feeling 
keenly,  as  sensitive  and  full  of  fine  instincts ;  they  were 
simply  the  lower  classes,  and  that  one  of  this  class  wonld 
ever  dare  to  rise  up  and  claim  that  to  which  she  also  laid 
claim  was  an  idea  that  never,  ever  so  faintly,  occurred  to 
her.  She  had  thought  very  little  of  this  young  English 
person.  She  supposed  that  all  young  men  had  some 
awkward  contretemps  in  life.  It  need  not  concern  her. 
She  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  think  of  it 

She  had  gone  back  to  madame's  boudoir,  and  stood 
with  a  smile  on  her  face  looking  at  the  superb  costume 
that  still  lay  there,  the  cloth  of  silver,  the  rich  jewels  and 
the  shining  dagger.  She  was  well  pleased  with  them  all  and 
he  admired  them,  that  was  the  crowning  beauty.  Wiuit 
a  pleasant  evening  lay  before  her  —  he  would  be  there. 

There  was  only  one  in  the  world  for  her. 

"  How  little  I  ever  thought  I  should  learn  to  love  him 
so,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  have  actually  no  pride  where 
he  is  concerned." 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  Sasette,  Princess 
Helene's  favorite  maid,  came  in. 

"Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  softly,  "a  lady  wishes  to 
see  you." 

"  A  lady  ?    What  a  vague  expression,  Susette.     What 


The  belle  op  ltnn.  277 

"  I  do  not  know,  mademoiselle.  She  has  no  card,  and 
she  declined  to  give  any  name,  but  she  bade  me  pray  you, 
mademoiselle,  most  earnestly  to  see  her.  She  says  that 
her  business  is  of  most  supreme  importance." 

"  Is  she  young  or  old,  Susette?"  asked  Princess  Hel- 
«ne. 

"  Young,  mademoiselle,  and  beautiful  as   a  picture." 

"  Bring  her  here,  I  will  see  her  here, "  said  Princesc 
Helene,  slowly. 

She  was  not  much  interested,  and  cared  but  little  who 
it  was. 

The  next  minute  her  eyes  fell  on  a  face  which  startled 
her,  it  was  so  rarely  beautiful,  yet  it  was  colorless,  worn, 
and  haggard  with  pain. 

Two  blue  eyes,  more  lovely  than  she  had  ever  seen, 
were  looking  into  her  own.  A  lovely,  delicate,  fragile 
girl  stood  before  her,  whose  hair  seemed  to  have  caught 
the  gold  of  the  sunlight,  a  girl  who  looked  upon  her 
with  an  expression  on  her  face  such  as  Princess  Helene 
had  never  seen  before. 

The  scene  was  dramatic  enough ;  the  magnificent  room 
with  its  superb  adornments,  its  wealth  of  luxury ;  the 
daylight  was  fading,  and  soft  shadows  lay  in  the  cor- 
ners ;  the  air  was  heavy  with  perfume,  and  the  rich 
blooms  seemed  to  catch  the  dying  light.  The  two  beauti- 
ful girls  stood  facing  each  other :  Princess  Helene  the 
ideal  of  magnificent  beauty,  Lima  the  picture  of  fair  love- 
liness; Princess  Helene,  superb  in  her  stately  manner 
and  exquisite  dress  —  Lima,  fair,  fragile,  with  her  whole 
soul  shining  in  her  face.  For  some  few  seconds  they 
stood  in  silence  looking  at  each  other:  Princess  Helen* • 
startled  at  the  stranger's  beauty  without  dreaming  win 
she  was.  Then,  with  the  haughty  manner  natural  to  her, 
she  said : 

"  You  wished  to  see  me,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  You  are  Mademoiselle  de  Saison,"  said  Lima.  "  I 
wish  to  see  you — to  talk  to  you." 

"  Will  you  take  a  chair  if  your  visit  is  likely  to  be  a 
long  one  ?  "  said  Princess  Helene,  amd  Lima  sat  down. 

Princess    Helene    flung    herself    haughtily    into  the 


278  THE   BELLE   OF   LTNIT. 

nearest  chair.  Who  was  this  beautiful  girl  and  what  did 
she  want  ? 

It  was  not  so  easy,  now  that  she  was  face  to  face  with 
this  magnificent  woman,  to  begin ;  but  Lima  must  tell 
•what  she  came  to  tell. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "  I  am  an  English  girl ;  my 
name  was  Lima  Derwent — perhaps  you  may  have  heard 
it?" 

"  No,"  said  the  princess,  proudly. 

"  My  name  now,"  she  continued,  "  is  Lima  de  Soldana. 
1  was  married  to  Leon  Comte  de  Soldana  at  the  church 
at  Haslingdene,  in  England — a  marriage  valid  and  legal 
according  to  the  English  law." 

For  one  minute  Princess  Helene  looked  up  with  a 
dangerous  flash  in  her  eyes.  She  sprang  from  her  seat, 
with  a  gesture  of  profound  contempt,  then  she  looked 
fixedly  at  the  face  before  her.  So  this  was  the  young 
English  person  whom  she  had  thought  of  so  little  impor- 
tance— the  lovely  fragile  girl  whose  eyes  were  bright  as 
Btars,  and  whose  mouth  was  sweeter  than  the  sweetest 
rose.  A  hot  flush  of  jealousy  swept  over  her.  She  had 
not  realized  that  this  person  might  be  young  and  most 
lovely.  Her  jealous  eyes  rested  angrily  on  the  fair  face 
»nd  the  golden  hair.  If  that  hot,  jealous  glance  could 
have  slain,  Lima  would  have  died.  Then,  with  negligent 
grace  and  hauteur,  she  resumed  her  place,  and  all  trace 
*f  emotion  died.     She  spoke  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 

"  If  it  were  not,"  she  said,  '*  that  the  English  are  such 
extraordinary  people,  I  might  ask  why  you  have  come 
here  ? " 

"  I  come  here  because  I  have  been  told  that  Count  de 
Soldana  has  some  thought  of  marrying  you,  mademoiselle, 
that  his  mother  and  his  friends  wish  it  and  that  he  him- 
self desires  it.  Mademoiselle  I  am  here  to  say  that  you 
cannot  marry  him,  for  he  is  my  husband,  and  I  claim 
him  for  my  own." 

"  I  Hiink  it  a  most  intrusive  and  impertinent  thing  for 
you  to  have  come  here,"  says  Princess  Helene.  "  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  I  must  beg  that  the  interview 
end  now." 

"  But,  mademoiselle,  it  cannot  end ;  yoii  must  listen. 


'thb  bsllb  6t  ltitw.  879 

I  think  rather  that  it  is  yon  who  should  be  ashamed  in 
consenting  to  marry  a  man  who  already  has  a  wife  living 
who  loves  him." 

Princess  Helene  smiled  contemptuously/ 

"  You  are  not  his  wife,"  she  says.  "  I  have  heard  of 
your  story.  The  marriage  was  not  legal,  not  binding. 
Such  a  thing  has  happened  to  girls  of  your  class  before, 
and  probably  will  again.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
It  does  not  concern  me." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  cried  Lima,  her  fair  face  flushed 
with  earnestness,  "  this  marriage  shall  never  take  place. 
Leon  de  Soldana  can  never  be  your  husband,  hecause  he 
ia  mine.  He  wooed  me,  and  married  me ;  he  loved  me. 
Ah,  if  you  knew  how  he  loved  me,  you  would  never 
marry  him.  I  had  all  his  heart,  I  carried  it  in  the  hollow 
of  my  hand.  He  could  never  care  one  half  so  much  for 
any  human  being  as  he  did  for  me  —  never  again." 

*'  He  has  not  shown  any  great  love,"  said  Princess 
Helene,  sneeringly.  "  He  has  found  out  that  his  so- 
called  marriage  was  a  mistake,  and  he  is  doing  his  best  to 
remedy  it.  It  would  not  be  fair,  if  a  man  were  to  suffer 
for  a  folly  of  that  kind  all  his  life." 

"  He  has  been  badly  influenced,"  said  Lima.  "  Of  his 
own  free  will  no  such  cowardly  or  ungenerous  idea  would 
have  come  to  him." 

"  I  think,"  said  Princess  Helene,  "  that  it  is  yon  who 
are  ungenerous.  You  would  have  him  give  up  this  fair 
land  of  France,  all  the  honors  that  have  been  given  to 
him,  all  his  brilliant  future,  and  all  his  bright  hopes,  to 
go  and  live  in  a  cottage  in  England  with  you.  It  is  you 
who  are  ungenerous.  It  would  be  cruel  so  to  mar  his 
life,  to  ruin  him,  to  destroy  him !  Cruel !  You  are  a 
selfish  and  ungenerous  woman  to  think  of  it.  1  shall 
bring  him  wealth,  fortune,  honor  —  every  possible  advan- 
tage that  marriage  can  bring  a  man.  You  would  ruin 
him!" 

"  He  is  mine,  and  I  claim  him.  I  love  him,  and  he 
loves  me !  " 

She  could  have  uttered  no  words  that  would  have  en- 
raged the  princess  more.  The  bitter  jealousy  that  had 
lain  latent  in  her  heart  rose  to  fury ;  Lima's  delicate  \ov^ 


280  THE  BELLE   OP  LTNH. 

liness  angered  her,  her  clear,  sweet  voice,  her  grace  of 
manner,  angered  her,  also.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
Count  de  Soldana  had  really  loved  this  girl  —  had  kissed 
her  and  caressed  her  even  as  he  had  done  herself? " 

"  I  should  like  to  kill   her !  "  thought  Princess  Helene. 

With  Lima,  too,  jealousy  had  been  growing ;  the  mag- 
nificent beauty  of  Mile,  de  Saison  and  the  luxury  that 
surrounded  her  produced  their  effect. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  that  this  most  wicked  and  un- 
natural marriage  shall  never  take  place  —  that  I  claim  nij 
husband  for  my  own  in  the  face  of  Heaven  and  earth, 
and  no  other  woman  shall  take  my  place !  " 

Princess  Helene  laughed,  a  sneering  laugh  which 
seemed  to  set  the  girl's  heart  on  fire. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  she  replied,  "  that  your  opinion  will 
be  asked  on  the  matter.  I  admit  it  is  rather  hard  on  you, 
but  in  affairs  of  tliis  kind  I  believe  it  is  always  the  weak- 
est who  are  crushed.  There  are  privileges  of  class  —  you 
enjoy  none!  If  you  are  at  all  sensible,  you  will  yield  to 
any  suggestions  Madame  de  Soldana  may  make,  and  go 
back  to  England." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  cried  Lima,  "  do  you  believe  that 
my  marriage  was  valid  ? " 

"  Do  I  believe  it  ?  Most  certainly  not.  You  must  be 
mad  to  ask  such  a  question  !  " 

•'  Do  you  believe  that  the  marriage  sacred  as  a  sacra- 
ment m  England,  is  less  sacred  here  ?  " 

"  It  18  against  the  law,"  said  Princess  Helene.  "  How 
can  anything  be  sacred  that  is  against  the  law  ?  The  law 
is  the  preserver  of  nations.  And  now,"  she  continued ; 
"  I  have  heard  enough ;  there  need  be  no  more  said.  I 
thmk  your  coming  to  see  me  is  altogether  bad  taste,  and 
I  cannot  help  telling  you  so." 

"  It  is  no  question  of  taste,"  said  Lima.  "  It  is  a  qmes- 
tion  of  right  and  wrong — it  is  a  question  that  you  cannot 
settle,  mademoiselle,  by  a  few  contemptuous  words.  It 
is  a  question  that  will  look  you  in  the  face — and  brand 
your  soul  with  tire  at  the  Judgment  Day." 

Princess  Helene  laughed,  a  sneering  laugh  which 
brought  a  hot  flqsh  into  Lima's  face. 


THB  BELLE   OF   LTKN.  381 

**  I  shall  be  quite  content  to  wait  until  then,  and  am 
not  afraid  of  the  consequences." 

Hot  anger  filled  Lima's  heart  —  hot,  bitter  rage,  so 
great,  so  terrible,  that  her  whole  body  trembled  with  it ; 
and  so  they  stood  for  some  minutes  looking  death  or 
murder  at  each  other. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  Lima,  "  you  call  yourself  '  no- 
ble '  you  boast  that  you  are  descended  from  a  long  line 
of  nobles,  therefore  you  ought  to  have  all  noble  virtues, 
you  ought  to  be  above  all  mean  and  ignoble  ideas,  above 
all  unjust  and  wicked  actions.  Would  you  steal  from 
me  —  would  you  take  my  money  ?  " 

And  the  face  of  Princess  Helene  was  a  study  as  she 
heard  these  words.  Loftiest  scorn,  bitter  anger,  hot  in- 
dignation, struggled  for  mastery. 

"  You  will  not  deign  to  answer  me,"  said  Lima,  "  I 
will  answer  for  you.  You  would  rather  burn  off  those 
proud  hands  of  yours  than  that  they  should  steal — and 
steal  from  me.  And  yet  you  are  stealing  from  me  that 
which  I  value  far  above  life  itself  —  my  husband." 

"  He  is  not  yours,"  said  Princess  Helene. 

"  He  is  mine,"  said  Lima,  "  and  no  one  else  shall  take 
bim  from  me.  You  shall  not,  mademoiselle;  with  all 
your  beauty,  all  your  high  birth,  all  your  pride  and 
grandeur,  you  shall  not  have  him.  If  I  were  a  great 
lady  as  you  are,  I  would  scorn  to  rob  another  girl  of  her 
husband.  If  you  do  steal  him,  he  will  never  love  you  aa 
he  loved  me.  I  had  all  the  first  warm  love  of  his  neart ; 
there  will  not  be  much  left  for  you,  great  lady  as  you 
are.  Should  you  succeed,  even  in  the  very  hour  of  your 
success,  you  will  be  second  to  me;  but  you  will  not 
succeed.  Heaven  is  just !  You  shall  not  take  him  from 
me." 

She  paused  suddenly ;  the  sound  of  her  own  voice 
frightened  her  —  it  seemed  to  come  from  some  far  dis- 
tance —  and  her  brain  whirled ;  nothing  seemed  clear  to 
bet. 


282  THE  BELLB  OF  LYHW. 

"Am  I  going  mad?"  she  thought  to  herself.  "Has 
my  misery  driven  me  mad  ? " 

Then  to  her  horror  she  found  that  she  could  not  hear 
what  Princess  Helene  was  saying;  she  could  see  the 
mocking  smile  on  the  proud  face,  the  mocking  lines 
round  the  beautiful  mouth,  but  she  could  not  near  a 
sound. 

"  Oh  Heaven  1 "  she  cried ;  "  I  must  be  going  mad ;  I 
cannot  bear  it." 

There  was  a  smile  on  the  mocking  face  opposite  to  her, 
but  she  could  not  distinguish  the  words  that  came  from 
Princess  Helene's  lips. 

Suddenly  a  blood-red  mist  swam  before  her  eyes,  and 
through  it  she  only  saw  the  mocking  beauty  of  that 
proud  face ;  then  she  must  have  gone  mad,  for  suddenly 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  saw  her  husband  by  Princess 
Helene's  side,  standing  tliere  tall,  erect,  handsome,  his 
face  bent  over  the  beautiful  one  of  her  rival.  It  was  but 
a  mad,  vivid  fancy — to  her  it  was  most  horriWj  real. 

They  were  laughing  at  her !  Oh,  Heaven,  was  there 
no  justice,  no  mercy  ?  Laughing  at  her,  and  he,  Leon, 
kissed  that  proud  face ;  then  both  turned  to  her  with  a 
mocking  smile. 

"  He  is  mine,"  said  Princess  Helene ;  "  all  mine,  you 
see." 

Through  the  blood-red  mist  she  saw  the  gleam  of  the 
silver  dagger  with  the  sharp,  keen  blade. 

"  He  is  all  mine,"  mocked  Princess  Helene.  "  You 
see  he  loves  me,  he  kisses  me,  he  will  never  look  at  you 
again  ;  it  is  you  who  are  second,  not  L" 

The  terrible  mist  deepened,  there  was  a  sound  in  her 
ears  as  of  falling  waters,  then  came  to  her  overstrained 
brain  just  one  glimpse  of  cool,  clear  reason,  and  she  saw 
there  was  no  Leon  there  —  only  Princess  Helene,  look- 
ifig  at  her  with  half-frightened  eyes. 

"  You  are  mad,"  she  said,  sternly. 

"  Mad  I  "  Ah !  that  was  the  word  ;  the  very  sound  of 
it  threw  her  off  her  balance ;  it  was  the  laugh  of  a  mad 
woman  that  rang  through  the  room.  The  fair  distorted 
face  was  terrible  to  see. 


THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN.  283 

"  Yon  mnst  be  taken  away  and  locked  up,"  said 
Princess  Helene. 

As  she  spoke,  she  moved  as  though  she  would  touch 
the  bell-rope,  then  complete  and  perfect  madness  took 
possession  of  the  hapless  girl.  She  seemed  to  look  down 
a  long  vista  of  years,  during  which  she  would  be  shut 
away  from  the  world,  while  Leon  and  Princess  Helene 
were  happy  together. 

"  You  shall  not  touch  that  rope,"  she  cried,  the  fire 
of  madness  in  her  eyes  —  "  you  shall  not  touch  it  1 " 

"  I  shall  ring,  and  have  you  taken  away  from  here," 
flaid  Princess  Helene. 

She  moved  again.  There  was  a  rush,  a  struggle,  a  cry, 
only  Heaven  knew  how  it  had  happened.  She,  who  in 
her  whole  life  had  never  given  pain ;  she  who  had  been 
tender  even  to  dead  flowers  and  dying  leaves,  who  would 
not  crush  the  daisies  in  the  grass ;  she  whose  heart  had 
ever  been  filled  with  love  and  tenderness  for  all  things 
created ;  she,  driven  mad  by  mockery,  by  cruel  words, 
by  outraged  love,  by  physical  fatigue,  by  long  fasting 
and  weary  travelling ;  she,  wliose  hand  had  never  been 
raised  but  in  love  and  kindness,  suddenly  seized  that 
gleami"iig  dagger,  caught  the  upraised  arm  of  Princess 
Helene  just  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  touching  the  bell 
and  plunged  the  blade  in  her  breast.  It  was  but  the 
work  of  a  moment,  and  the  act  of  one  for  the  time  being 
quite  mad. 

Then  there  was  a  cry  and  a  fall.  As  suddenly  as  her 
senses  had  left  her  they  came  back,  and  she  found  her- 
self bending  over  the  fallen  body  of  Princess  Helene, 
with  the  stains  of  blood  on  her  hands. 

The  very  sight  of  it  and  the  fright  of  it  recalled  her 
scattered  senses,  and  she  knew,  she  realized  what  she  had 
done,  and  the  wonder  was  that  she  did  not  then  and 
there  fall  dead. 

It  was  murder  —  cruel,  terrible  murder ;  the  word 
seemed  written  in  great  letters  of  flame  before  her  eyes ; 
it  was  hissed  by  a  hundred  voices  in  her  ears — murder, 
cruel,  horrible  murder.  She  gave  one  look  at  the  pros- 
^te  body  of  her  rival,  at  the  whitp  set  face  and  the 


284  THE  BELLE  OF  LYWK. 

wound  whence  flowed  that  terrible  stream,  the  stain  of 
wJiich  was  on  her  own  hands ;  then  she  turned  and  fled. 

She  had  committed  murder.  Rapidly  as  lightning 
flashes  she  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do.  Siie  did  not 
look  again  at  the  terrible  sight  that  lay  on  the  ground : 
she  hastily  rubbed  the  stains  from  her  hands  and  quitted 
the  room. 

"Murder!  —  murder!"  was  the  sound  that  followed 
her,  as  she  went  rapidly  down  the  marble  staircase  and 
opened  the  great  hall  door.  She  met  no  one.  She  left 
the  house  quite  unobserved,  but  it  seemed  to  her  the 
very  ruoinent  she  reached  the  street  every  one  took  up 
the  cry  of  "  murder !  " 

It  was  not  all  fancy,  people  did  stop  to  look  at  her ; 
that  wild,  white,  beautiful  face  attracted  much  attention. 

She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left ;  her 
eyes  were  fixed  and  looked  straight  before  her;  she 
walked  rapidly  without  pausing  until  she  reached  the 
great  railway  station. 

There  she  stood  for  a  few  minutes  quite  bewildered ; 
in  the  shrieks  from  the  engines,  in  the  cries  of  the 
porters,  from  every  sound  that  reached  her  ears  came 
that  dread  word,  "  murder." 

She  was  in  time  for  the  night  mail  to  London ;  she 
would  reach  London  on  the  noon  of  the  morrow ;  for 
there  she  would  take  the  train  to  Lynn.  She  was  flying 
home  with  a  distinct  and  settled  purpose  in  her  mind 
which  never  wavered  from  the  moment  in  which  she 
realized  what  she  had  done. 

She  had  been  many  long  hours  now  without  food,  and 
when  the  train  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  at  Amiens,  a 
lady  seated  in  the  same  carriage  with  her  looked  up  at 
her  and  begged  her  to  take  some  wine. 

"You  look  very  ill  and  faint,"  said  the  lady.  "Let 
me  persuade  you  to  take  some  wine." 

The  eyes  raised  to  hers  were  full  of  unutterable  woe ; 
the  voice  which  answered  hers  was  hardly  human. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Lima,  "  but  it  would  be  useless — 
quite  useless." 

So  fixed  was  the  terrible  purpope  in  her  mind,  she 
wight  droop  and  tremble^  but  food  and  drink  would 


THB  BELLB   OP   LYNN.  285 

never  pass  her  lips  more — she  who  had  that  awful  stain 
OD  her  hands ! 

The  winds  blew  fiercely,  and  the  scream  of  the  whistl* 
raroly  ceased.  It  seemed  to  her  that  others  mast  hear  it. 
It  stormed  the  windows ;  it  beat  angrily  against  the 
doors  ;  it  seemed  to  denounce  her  fiercely,  with  that  one 
cvy,  "  Murder  ! "  Surely,  every  one  must  hear  it,  and 
mnst  know  that  she  had  done  it.  There  were  times 
when  fatigue  was  too  great  for  her,  and  she  slept — a 
troubled  and  terrible  sleep,  far  more  terrible  than  her 
waking  moments,  for  in  her  sleep  she  was  looking  always 
at  the  body  she  had  left  lying  on  the  ground,  with  the 
crimson  wound  on  the  white  breast.  She  would  wake 
up  with  a  stifled  cry  of  "  Murder !  "  There  was  no  rest, 
no  refuge  from  the  world.  As  fast  as  steam  and  wind 
could  take  her,  hardly  conscious,  yet  just  able  to  control 
her  actions,  she  went  on  to  her  doom. 

Once  more  she  was  on  the  sea,  the  waves  running 
high;  they  seemed  to  hiss  at  her;  and  as  they  rolled 
along,  with  one  grand  voice  they  thundered  the  word 
"  murder." 

The  waters  rushed  through  the  great  wheels,  and  the 
wind  swept  over  the  deck ;  all  sound  was  alike  on  the 
vessel  —  and  it  formed  the  hateful  word. 

Once  more  she  was  on  English  ground,  once  more  she 
was  on  road  ta  Lynn.  There  were  times  when  earth 
and  sky  seemed  to  meet,  when  her  head  fell  on  her 
breast,  and  for  some  minutes  she  was  quite  unconscious 
of  all  around  her ;  she  awoke  always  with  the  word 
"  murder  "  hissing  in  her  ears. 

She  had  left  the  railway  station  now,  and  it  is  almost 
noon  of  the  following  day.  She  does  not  take  the  road  to 
the  little  cottage,  which  she  will  never  see  more,  but  to 
the  banks  of  Allan  Water. 

She  had  one  settled,  dreadful  purpose  in  her  mind, 
from  which  she  had  never  swerved.  Useless  for  her  to 
take  food  or  wine,  to  look  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  to 
linger  over  any  of  the  haunts ;  useless,  for  she  was  going 
to  die.  She  did  not  dare  to  live ;  even  now  they  would 
be  in  hot  pursuit  of  her.     She  could  both  hear  and  see 


286  THS   BELLE   OF    LTNIf. 

them  in  her  mad  fancy;  strong  men  with  bandcofEs  in 
pursuit  of  her,  each  crying  *'  murder!  murder  1 " 

Faster  and  faster  she  flew  down  the  high-road,  crossed 
the  fields  and  there  before  her,  shining  and  bright,  lay 
the  broad,  beautifnl  sheet  of  Allan  Water,  calm  and 
dimpling  in  the  sunlight ;  there,  on  the  other  side,  was 
the  old  mill,  with  the  quaint  red  roof  and  wealth  of  trees. 
She  did  not  stop  to  look  at  it  when  the  broad,  shining 
waters  broke  on  her  sight.  She  clasped  her  hands  and 
cried — "  At  last — at  last ! "  but  she  did  not  pause  or  go 
more  slowly. 

They  might  be  behind  her  now.  They  might  cry 
"  Murder "  with  myriad  voices.  She  was  safe.  She 
would  fling  herself  on  the  broad  bosom  of  Allan  Water — 
the  only  refuge  left  to  her  on  earth. 

Smiling  and  dimpling  in  the  wintry  sunshine,  it  was 
like  an  old  friend.     It  was  life  rather  than  death,  it  was 

foing  hom*,  she  did  not  wait  even  to  look  round  her ; 
er  heart  was  on  fire  with  impatience  for  rest. 

She  sprang  into  the  water  as  one  loved  springs  to  the 
embrace  of  the  beloved  one.  It  closed  round  her  as 
though  it  knew  and  loved  her,  and  would  keep  her  for 
evermore. 

Once  in  the  wintry  sunlight  a  white  arm  and  hand 
struck  the  water  as  though  to  beat  it  away  ;  then  all  was 
calm  and  still,  the  eddies  died  away,  and  there  was  no 
movement  on  the  breast  of  Allan  Water. 

Later  on  that  afternoon  the  miller,  who  had  gone  in 
search  of  the  boat,  cried  out  to  his  wife : 

"  Helen,  what  is  that  shining  in  the  water  there  ?  It 
looks  like  gold."    And  he  walked  round  the  bank  to  sae- 


I 


^  THS  BELLE  OF  LTHV.  SSf 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

Madame  la  Comtesse  had  travelled  as  quickly  as  it 
was  possible  to  go ;  she  had  not  lost  or  wasted  one  mi-j- 
ote.  Her  one  great  fear  was  that  some  fatal  mischief 
would  be  done  before  she  reached  Paris  —  the  presenti- 
ment was  strong  upon  her.  She  reached  the  railway 
station  in  the  afternoon,  and  drove  quickly  home.  She 
asked  at  once  for  her  son ;  she  would  not  eat,  drink,  or 
rest  until  she  had  seen  him. 

"  Had  an  English  lady  been  there  ? "  she  asked,  and 
the  answer  was : 

"  Yes ;  an  English  lady  had  called  on  Monsieur  le 
Comte." 

So  far  all  was  safe.  She  felt  sure,  from  the  placid 
faces  around  her,  there  had  been  no  exposure,  no  scandal. 

"  Where  is  Monsieur  le  Comte  ?  "  she  asked  of  his 
valet,  who  replied,  with  a  low  bow,  that  he  had  gone  to 
the  Hotel  de  Saison. 

"  I  will  drive  there  at  once,"  said  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse ;  and  she  entered  the  carriage.  "  Drive  quickly," 
she  said  to  the  coachman,  and  for  a  time  he  obeyed ;  but 
as  they  drew  nearer  he  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
drive  at  all.  The  broad  streets  were  lined  with  people, 
and  Madame,  to  her  horror,  saw  that  before  the  door  of 
Princess  Helene's  house  there  was  assembled  a  vast 
crowd. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  cried,  looking  out  of  the  carriage 
window. 

Twenty  heads  were  turned  toward  her,  twenty  voices 
answered  at  once,  "  Murder !  murder !  " 

And  a  woman,  whose  face  was  livid  with  excitement 
cried  out  to  her : 

"  There  has  been  murder !  " 

"  Who  is  murdered  ?  "  asked  madame,  her  lips  grow- 
ing stifE  and  white. 

"  I  do  not  know  her  name,  but  they  say  she  is  th» 
most  beautiful  girl  and  the  wealthiest  heiress  in  Ffauoe.** 


988  THE  BELLB  OF  LTNIT. 

"  Who  has  murdered  her  ?  "  asked  madame. 

I  know  not.  Some  one  they  say,  who  was  jealotta  of 
h&rr 

"  Great  Heaven,  the  deed  is  done  ! "  cried  madame. 

She  hastened  from  her  carriage.  The  crowd  made 
way  at  sight  of  that  proud  woman,  with  her  white, 
haggard  face.  She  entered  the  house,  and  the  first 
person  she  saw  was  her  son. 

"  Leon,"  she  cried,  "  what  is  it  ?  What  has  happen- 
ed?" 

"  Murder^  raotlier !  "  he  answered. 

She  bent  her  head  and  asked  another  question.  He 
answered  it  with  trembling,  colorless  lips. 

Never  had  there  been  greater  consternation,  never 
more  grief  or  dismay  than  when  Susette,  going  with 
some  message  to  her  mistress,  found  her  lying  on  the 
ground  with  that  terrible  crimson  wound  on  her  breast. 

Her  cries  aroused  the  whole  household,  and  there  en- 
sued a  terrible  confusion.  Monsieur  le  Comte  entered  in 
the  midst  of  it;  his  horror  and  dismay  were  terrible  to 
behold. 

His  first  question  was,  who  had  done  it,  and  what  was 
the  motive  ?  The  servants  could  give  him  no  informa- 
tion. It  was  true  that  a  lady  had  been  with  her — a  very 
fair  and  gentle  lady ;  how  long  she  had  remained  no  one 
knew,  nor  had  any  one  seen  her  go.  His  heart  and  con- 
science told  him  wJio  it  was  and  what  she  had  done ;  his 
own  heart  told  him  also  who  had  driven  her  to  do  it. 
Perhaps  the  most  terrible  moment  of  his  life  was  the  one 
in  which  he  told  the  frightened  servants  that  visit  was  no 
clew ;  that  the  crime  had  evidently  been  commited  by  a 
man,  and  that  the  motive  was  evidently  robbery ;  that 
the  reason  why  the  robbery  had  not  been  completed  must 
be  that  the  murderer  had  been  disturbed  and  had  fled. 
Still,  it  seemed  so  incredible  that  such  a  crime  could 
have  been  committed  with  a  house  full  of  servants. 
Madame  Vesey  was  absent  for  the  day.  True,  madame'c 
boudoir  was  so  far  away  from  the  servants'  office  that 
even  a  scream  would  not  have  been  heard. 

There  was  terrible  excitement;  the  young  count  was 
at  first  (^nite  overwhelmed  with  horror  and  dismays  it 


THB  BELLE   OF   LYNN.  289 

was  at  that  moment  that  madame  returned,  and  a  very 
different  order  of  things  was  brought  about ;  the  shriek- 
ing, terrified  servants  were  sent  each  to  their  right  place^ 
the  chief  of  the  police  was  summoned ;  above  all,  two  or 
three  of  the  most  clever  physicians  in  Paris  were  sent 
for,  for  Madame  la  C^mtesse  de  Soldana,  looking  on  tlie 
white  face  of  Princess  Helene,  declared  that  she  was  not 
dead;  they  came  round  her  in  wonder,  but  madame 
calmly  repeated  the  words. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  she  is  not  dead,"  and  the  doc- 
tors who  came  said  the  same  thing —  "  she  was  not  dead." 

Half  an  hour  afterward  Princess  Helene  had  opened 
her  eyes,  and  had  spoken.  Madame  de  Vesey  had  re- 
turned by  that  time,  horrified  to  find  her  house  in  the 
hands  of  the  doctors  and  the  police ;  there  was  a  long 
consultation,  and  then  the  doctors  gave  it  as  their  opin- 
ion that  with  the  greatest  care  it  was  within  the  bounds 
of  human  possibility  that  she  might  recover.  The  wound 
was  deep  and  painful,  but  not  mortal  they  hoped.  No 
need  now  for  the  services  of  the  police,  madame  would 
be  able  to  obtain  all  needful  information  from  mademoi- 
selle when  she  was  able  to  give  it.  The  day  came  when 
Princess  Helene,  looking  very  white  and  ill,  was  able  to 
be  questioned.  Madame  Vesey  and  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  went  to  her  and  asked  her  for  the  clew  to  this  cruel 
outrage,  but  she  would  give  none.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  that  during  the  first  hours  of  her  ilhiess. 

"  I  had  driven  the  girl  mad,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
had  taken  from  her  all  that  she  valued  most  in  the  world. 
I  might  have  been  kinder,  but,  at  least,  I  will  not  betray 
her ;  no  one  living  shall  ever  know  the  truth  from  me." 

And  she  clung  to  that  resolve  with  an  almost  savagt 
fidelity,  when  the  two  ladies  told  her  that  the  time  had 
now  come  in  which  she  must  exert  herself  and  tell  them 
what  had  happened  ;  but  to  their  intense  surprise,  Prin- 
cess Helene  had  nothing  to  say. 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  was  all  she  had  to  say  in  answer 
to  their  inquiries —  "  a  perfect  accident." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear,"  said  Madame  de  Vesey,  "  an 
accident  never  drove  that  skarp  dagger  so  near  your 
heart" 


990  *  THE  BELLE  OF  LYNN. 

"  I  fell  on  it,"  said  Princess  Helene,  nnblushingly ;  and 
then  Madame  de  Vesey  knew  that  all  further  questions 
were  needless,  for  her  niece  would  never  tell  one  word  of 
what  had  happened. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  quite  understood.  If  Princess 
Helene  had  told  the  true  story  of  that  crime,  there  would 
have  been  great  exposure,  great  scandal ;  the  papers 
would  have  got  hold  of  the  story,  and  it  would  have 
spread  all  over  France  and  England  too.  A  thousand 
times  better  hush  it  up !  Princess  Helene,  she  thought, 
showed  not  only  magnanimity,  but  good  sense.  They 
spoke  but  once  on  the  matter,  when  Princess  Helene  her- 
self had  said : 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse,  have  you  taken  my  affair  quite 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  police  ? 

"  I  have  not  done  so  yet,"  replied  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse. 

"  Then,  will  you  see  to  it  at  once,  madarae  ? "  asked 
Princess  Helene.  "  When  they  are  made  to  understand 
that  it  is  an  accident  they  will  see  that  they  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it ;  they  will  understand.  And,  madame, 
with  your  permission,  we  will  never  mention  the  subject 
•gain." 

And  they  never  did. 

The  police  perfectly  understood.  A  paragraph  went 
the  round  of  the  papers,  saying  that  a  great  and  moet 
stupid  mistake  had  been  made,  that  there  had  been  no 
murder,  no  assassination,  not  even  an  assault,  nothing  but 
an  accident  which  happened  while  Mademoiselle  de 
Saison  was  preparing  for  a  masquerade  ball,  and  from 
which  she  was  rapidly  recovering. 

They  did  not  tell  Princess  Helene  at  first  what  had 
happened  in  England.  It  was  the  principal  of  the  col- 
lege who  wrote  to  the  young  count  and  told  him  wliat 
had  happened.  When  he  knew  it  and  realized  it,  he  suf- 
fered as  few  men  can  suffer ;  he  was  never  the  same  man 
again;  he  lost  his  lightness  of  heart,  his  gay  spirits,  the 
music  died  from  his  smiles  and  his  laughter.  No  one 
could  have  recognized  in  the  stern,  hauglity  man  of  the 
after-years  the  once  cheery  and  graceful  young  count. 
He  married  Princess  Helene,  bat  they  vfere  never  quite 


THE   BELLE  OF  LYNN.  2^1 

happy,  a  dark  shadow  lay  ever  between  them.  Lima's 
name  was  never  mentioned,  no  allusion  was  ever  made 
to  her,  but  her  memory  stood  ever  between  husband  and 
wife. 

Monsieur  Le  Comte  de  Soldana  became  one  of  the 
leading  statesmen  in  France  ;  his  name  is  a  power  in  that 
land  for  which  he  sacrificed  Lima,  but  he  is  not  a  happv 
man,  no  one  ever  sees  him  smile. 

I  think  there  are  times  when  he  would  give  up  all  he 
h£i8  in  the  world — rank,  title,  wealth,  fortune,  honors  and 
fame  —  to  be  sitting  once  more  in  the  little  cottage 
garden  with  Lima's  arms  round  his  neck. 

He  is  haunted,  as  men  who  have  done  wrong,  who 
have  been  moral  cowards,  always  are  —  haunted  by  the 
memory  of  a  loving  heart  which  he  broke;  of  a  fair, 
sweet  face  from  which  he  had  robbed  the  bloom  and  the 
beauty;  of  blue  eyes,  the  light  of  which  had  been 
quenched  with  tears ;  of  a  fair  young  life  sacrificed  for 
him. 

He  is  haunted ;  when  he  falls  asleep  it  is  Lima  who 
jays  loving  words  to  him,  who  stretches  out  her  white 
arms  to  him,  calls  him  her  love  and  her  husband,  kissei 
his  face  with  a  tenderness  beyond  words.  It  is  Lima 
who  stands  by  his  side  every  night  and  sings  to  him  of 
the  banks  of  Allan  Water,  always  the  last  verses : 

*'  For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he ; 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water 
None  so  sad  as  she. 

**  On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
When  the  vnnter  snow  fell  fast. 
Still  was  seen  the  miller's  daughter. 
Chilling  blew  the  blast. 

**  But  the  miller's  lovely  daughter 
Both  from  cold  and  care  was  free; 
On  the  banks   of  Allan  Water, 
There  a  corpse  lay  she." 

She  sings  it  over  and  over  again  to  him,  and  in  his 
dreams  he  begs  her  for  pity's  sake  not  to  look  at  him  with 
those  dead  eyes,  not  to  drag  him,  with  those  tender,  out- 
stretched arms  down  into  the  depths  of  Allan  Water. 

Then  he  wakes,  and  these  memories  sweep  over  him. 


292  THB  BELLE   OF   LYNN. 

He  is  not  a  happy  man,  for  the  sweetest  smile  on  his 
wife's  face  cannot  drive  these  sad  thoughts  away. 

The  emperor  sent  him,  for  some  service  rendered,  the 
grand  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  he  thought  that 
the  proudest  day  of  his  life  was  when  he  received  it ;  but 
that  same  evening,  walking  in  the  beautiful  glades  of 
Belle  d'Or,  he  heard  the  wind  sighing  amongst  the  green 
leaves  of  the  lime-trees,  and  he  turned  sick  and  faint  to 
heart ;  there  was  no  happiness  in  his  pride. 

******* 

When  father  and  mother  stood  by  the  simple  green 
grave  in  the  churchyard  at  Lynn,  there  was  but  one 
qjestion  in  life  which  had  any  interest  left  for  them,  and 
it  was,  What  name  should  be  engraved  on  the  white 
marble  cross  ? 

"  Not  that  French  name,"  said  the  miller,  "  it  is  ac- 
cursed ;  and  not  mine,  for  she  shadowed  it." 

And  the  words  standing  there  are  simply  these: 

"The  Bbllb  of  Lyuh." 


9XBBHB 


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